Too Young to be too Old
by julian-juliana
Summary: After making a birthday wish to a stranger, thirteen year old Sam Winchester wakes up in the year 2008. He quickly discovers being an adult isn't at all what he'd thought. Humor, adventure, and angst are in store for both the Winchester brothers.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Too Young to be Too Old

Author: Julian-Juliana

Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters belong to Mr. Kripke. Everyone else is mine.

Summary: A 1996 Sam Winchester wakes up in his 25 year old body in 2008. This story takes place between 4x10 and 4x11.

Rating: T

Sam Winchester was not a force to be dealt with that unusually chilly, spring morning. His father and older brother knew that much. They gathered the hints when he woke up on time without a complaint, trained without a whine, and ate breakfast without a pout. To some parents, this may seem quite a good thing, but to John and Dean Winchester, they knew better. Usually when the youngest was upset, verbal battles would be exchanged between him and his father. However, if he suffered his father's will in silence, both John and Dean knew when the dam broke; the flood would consume all three and drown them all.

For the moment, John and Dean allowed Sam to use his silent treatment method. In fact, the two decided to bask in it before getting too worried. The backseat of the Impala that morning ride to school had been of perfect reverence instead of screeching and huffing. When John pulled the car up in front of the school, he told his boys goodbye and that he would most likely not be able to pick them up from school.

"It's okay, Dad." Dean told John with a shrug. "The motel isn't too far. Me and Sam can walk."

"Look after your brother." John cocked his head towards the backseat's occupant who was stared out the window making it a full purpose as to not make eye contact with the front seat's passengers.

"Yes, sir." Dean replied almost robotically. There were times he wondered what would happen if he said something like 'always do' or 'of course' or even 'the kid's old enough to take care of himself'. Internally, he shuddered at the consequences of such actions. It wasn't like he was tempted to say them or anything. It was just the damned teenage brain of his that chuckled at disastrous events. He knew 'yes, sir' was the only way to answer his father's demands.

"Good, boy." John smile proudly at his oldest, then turned his attention to his youngest. "Sammy, be good at school today and listen to your brother."

Nod. A curt one. That was all John received from Sam who then opened up the heavy back seat door and climbed out, vastly approaching the school entrance. John had hoped Sam would at least say something. 'Bye, Dad', 'be careful, Dad, 'love you, Dad', or even, 'it's Sam.'

The two eldest Winchesters watched the barely five foot twelve year old boy quietly approach the building, disappearing into the throng of students crowding around the front doors, laughing, gossiping, dancing, and even smoking.

"I take it he is upset with me for leaving." John commented to Dean. Dean nodded and smirked.

"He's going to be thirteen, Dad." Dean replied, hoping it didn't sound like he was sticking up for his younger brother too much. "Tomorrow."

"I thought a cake and pizza would be enough. It was last year." He grumbled and shrugged.

"He's growing up." Dean pointed out and then chuckled. "At least mentally."

"Well, I didn't say he could." John let slip and Dean snorted.

"Wouldn't that be somethin'? If kids could only grow up by their parents' consent."

"Yeah." John nodded ruefully. Perhaps there was a spell or something, he thought wryly. With that thought, he shushed his mind. Spell! He hated magic. It was messy and Satanic.

"He'll get hurt." Dean said and rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. It was aching due to that banshee last week. Bitch threw him into a tree. "He's says he's old enough to come with."

"He's not." John sucked in a breath through his nose at the idea of his youngest going out to battle the supernatural at the ripe age of twelve.

"I was twelve when I started." Dean knew he was treading on landmine territory, but he had to point out the obvious.

"You looked twelve." He sighed. "Sammy looks nine. He's…" A baby. John didn't say that, but he knew Dean would agree with him if he did.

"A kid. I get it." Dean nodded and gazed at the school. Sammy was probably in his class now, sitting alone due to the choice of being there ten minutes early. Dude was a weirdo.

Sam drummed his fingers on the desk to mimic the tune floating around in his noggin rather than impatience. He was alone in the class room save the teacher, Mrs. Boatwright who was grading papers at her desk three rows and two feet northward. His English book stretched and open to the chapter the seventh grade class would be studying. With the tune bee bopping around in his skull, he skimmed and mentally highlighted the phrases 'adverb' and 'direct object' and their rolls in complete sentences. His short legs were locked at the ankle swaying with the beat. He thought it better than letting the short stubs hang there from his seat. He felt his feet would be farther from the ground if he did that.

The first bell finally chimed and his fellow seventh grade students filed in and took a seat. As each one of them entered the room, his hope heightened gradually and once the final bell rang, he was floating on cloud nine. Today was going to be a good day in English. He picked up his pencil with a smile and began to start on notes when he heard heavy footsteps scampering down the hallway, close to the still open door of the classroom. Sam's smile faltered and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach when Billy Jackson came stomping into class. And as fate would have it, the only seat unoccupied settled right behind Sam Winchester.

Billy smiled sadistically and swaggered his portly self towards his favorite victim. Winchester. He was so much fun to toy with. So small, soft, and precious. And a little chubby. Round cheeks, a fuller middle, and spongy arms. Now Billy knew he himself was no body builder with a six pack…yet, but he was tall and had been lifting weights with his dad for the past few months.

"Mr. Jackson, you are late for class!" Mrs. Boatwright snapped at him. Billy smirked.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Boatwright. It will never happen again."

"It better not." She sniffed and turned her attention back to the black board she had been writing on. Billy stole advantage of the situation and leaned forward to 'a pretending to work super hard' Sam and whispered,

"Hey Whine-chester, hope you have your pull ups on. Don't want you to have another accident like last time."

Sam ignored Billy and continued to write notes. Of course there had been no 'accident like last time' bit. A couple of days ago, Billy and purposefully spilt some apple juice on his chair and some on the floor right below it. Sam hadn't caught on until it was too late.

Billy expected Sam would try to ignore him at first. That's what he always did, so Billy leaned forward a little farther with an outstretched arm and flicked him in the back of his right ear.

Flick, flick, flick, flick, flick, flick, fli-

Sam swiftly grabbed Billy's flicking fingers and spun around so he was facing him. He tightened his grip and glared. "Stop it." He said. He wished he sounded dangerous. Like his brother and Dad sounded when they were pissed. Instead, he sounded sissy. It wasn't fair that his voice had yet to change from the high octave of a five year old girl to the deep, throaty grumble of the Impala.

Billy smirked at the high pitched venomous tone which quickly faded as the pressure of Sam's surprisingly strong grip squeezed his much bigger hand. It almost hurt. Billy scowled and yanked his beefy hand out Sam's petite ones. He leaned back into his chair and decided to leave him alone for the rest of class. He'd wait to get him later.

*Author's note: I apologize in advance to those who may read my story. The plot-thickening good stuff will not show up for a few more chapters. I dare to dream that those building chapters are decent enough for those who choose to be a part of my audience. I will try to update this story at least once or twice a week depending on how often reality comes to check in with its fugly head. I thank those who choose to read my story regardless if he or she likes it or not. I am excited for this story and hope others will be, too. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

The janitor's closet was deemed more spacious than the last school Dean attended. The last one had been cluttered and smelt of bleach and mildew and had not in the least been romantic. It had been a wee bit more difficult to maneuver a make out session with the head cheerleader let alone talk her into making a trip there, but this closet at Shallow River High was quite nice. Theresa Harper seemed to think so, too. She had been more than willing to accompany Dean to said closet for the past week.

Theresa Harper was running low on oxygen in the janitor's closet but couldn't find the strength to pull away. Dean Winchester was a very good kisser. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and leaned into him more, so there was no space in between them. She smiled when she felt his strong arms wrap around her middle a little tighter than before.

The two broke apart panting when they heard the bell ring for lunch. Theresa appeared to have a harder time catching her breath than Dean. She laughed at the idea of him probably have more experience at it than her when it came to making out. Sure, she had her share of fun but she was still sixteen and a sophomore.

"What's so funny?" He asked that low dangerous voice that got her in the janitor's closet to begin with.

"Nothing." She said breathlessly while shaking her head and smiled shyly. She shifted onto her toes and back down to her heels nervously.

"We should go get some lunch." Dean suggested with a smirk. Theresa nodded her head in agreement and had to hold back from taking his hand in hers so they could walk down the hallway hand in hand like a happy high school couple. Badly, she wanted to, but technically, she was already on happy high school couple terms with Taylor Jackson, captain and quarterback of the football team and the baseball team. And she was captain of the cheerleading squad. It was expected of everyone: student body, student faculty, and family members that she date him and hang on his shoulder like an ornament. She wished she didn't care about what people thought. If she didn't, she wouldn't pretend to be study buddies with Dean Winchester and just tell the world whom she was in love with. Ahem. In like with. Theresa blushed and thanked her lucky stars that she and Dean were standing in the dark. She hated how her blushes were so easily activated.

"Do you want to sit by me at lunch?" She asked as she smoothed the wrinkles of her white, blue, and yellow cheerleading skirt and top. There was going to be a game after school, so she had to wear it that day while the baseball players wore their garb.

"I usually sit with my little brother. 'Sides, what would Taylor think?" Dean smirked at the idea. Who in the hell cared what that douche thought? He didn't deserve to have this fine piece. His fingers stroked the smooth slight roundness of her cheek fondly. No one did. Dean swallowed. He'd miss this one. Truth was she wouldn't be the first. Rarely, but occasionally, Dean let himself in a little too deep. His fingers traveled to her hair and playfully tugged on a curl. Rarely and occasionally had arrived. He pecked her chastely on the lips.

"I can sit by my friends without Taylor's consent." She snapped with her nose in the air and put her hands on her cocked hips. She really hated Taylor. Every time he wrapped his arms around her shoulder and pulled her to him possessively, she wanted to vomit. He was so rude. The way he treated people was so uncalled for. The mean things he has said about Dean and his little brother was…grrrr….so…stupid! So what if their jeans were ripped at the knee and their shoes had scuff marks and little Sammy's clothes were too big for him. All it showed was that not everyone came from money that attended this school. She certainly didn't. Not many people knew but her cheerleading uniform had been her older sister's who had graduated the year earlier. Her highlights, she did herself in the bathroom she shared with four younger siblings. She shared a bedroom with her ten year old sister. She didn't have a car, so she usually hitched a ride with a friend to avoid riding the bus. Her dad did construction, and her mom was the best homemaker ever. In high school, they were the happy high school couple. Her dad had been quarterback as well as the captain, and her mom had been captain of the cheerleading squad. He was going to get a full ride to college due to his grades and talent but chose a different path when he found out her mom was expecting Cindy Anne, Theresa's older sister. From then on, it's like they couldn't stop. Her mom was eight months pregnant with her seventh child.

"No it's okay." Dean said, tearing Theresa out of her thoughts. "I'll just sit by my brother." He opened the door to let the light of the school hallway shine in.

"Your brother can sit with us." Theresa stepped into the hallway and began to walk with Dean towards the cafeteria. "I don't mind." And she really didn't. Little Sammy was just too cute for words. Big puppy dog eyes and round cheeks with a mop of brown curls. Mmmm. She could eat him up!

Dean shrugged and the two continued down the hall. As they approached closer to the cafeteria, a rant or some sort of chime could be heard. Theresa and Dean looked at each other with confusion and walked in to the deafening room. All of the student body were standing by or sitting on tables with a beating fist in the air shouting 'fight' in repetition at the two boys wrestling on the linoleum in the middle of the room. Or rather, one boy was wrestling as the other there attempted to block punches and kicks as best but was failing tremendously.

Theresa caught glimpses of the boys' faces and felt sick to her stomach. She turned her attention to Dean so she could ask that he stop the madness, but he was already going towards them with a pissed and determined glint in his hazel eyes. His fists were clenched tightly as he snaked between ranting students.

The bigger boy of the two was mid punch when literally picked up from straddling his victim and thrown as easily as a Frisbee into a crowd of howling students. He and the shocked students stumbled backwards from the force. Dean glared menacingly at the boy and promised to deal with him in a moment. He looked back down at the boy clenched up into the fetal position. His eyes were closed tight and his hands were pressing into his stomach as though he were nursing a wound. When Dean spotted the blood trickling down his baby brother's nose and the small gash on his swollen lip, he knew 'in a moment' had arrived. He let Sam lay there and turned back towards the kid who made the worst mistake in history. The fat kid's eyes were wide with fear as Dean stalked towards him and grabbed him by his lapels and hoisted him into the air, so they met eye to eye. Fearing to determined. Dean heard gasps and 'whoas' and 'he must have some muscles underneath that leather jacket'.

"If you so much as look at him again, I will rip you lungs out, I swear!" Dean hissed through clenched teeth. "I will end you!"

If possible, Billy's eyes widened even more, closely resembling flying saucers. His toes weren't even touching the ground anymore.

"Do you understand?" Dean shook the boy roughly. Billy nodded shakily and trembles began to wrack his entire body. "Good!" Dean dropped the boy ungracefully onto his plump behind who then shook uncontrollably and sobs wracked his thick body.

The whole cafeteria was silent now and avoiding eye contact with Dean. The same thought coursing between their ears. No one messes with the Winchesters.

Before Dean turned his attention back to Sammy, he circled in his spot eyeing anyone who would dare come near him and his brother.

Sam was still huddled on the floor with his hands to his side. Without a word Dean, picked him and tossed him over his shoulders. Sam grimaced as he felt pressure on his stomach from his big brother's shoulder and from the embarrassment of it all. He refused to speak; however, he thought it would be best if he let his brother calm down. They left the cafeteria and headed down the hallway towards what Sam understood as the front office. As he ignored the uncomfortable position, he heard the pitter patter of someone running towards them. Dean turned to see Theresa running after them with a worried expression marring her delicate features.

"Where are you taking him?" Sam heard the girl that had his brother all up in a funk for the past four weeks.

"To the nurse and then home." He stated.

"I'll go with you." She walked to the side Sam wasn't occupying and took a hold of Dean's hand. To hell with happy high school coupling with Taylor. She smiled at him assuredly as they walked towards the office together. Dean smiled back but inside he knew he was in trouble. Theresa was getting into touchy feely in public. He usually knew where that ended up and he would have to put a stop to it. He would have to ignore her big brown eyes, cute impish grin, freckled nose, and long curly brown hair. He would have to ignore how sweet she was and how cute she giggled. And man, she was innocent. Really, really innocent. Theresa was chaste all the way and Dean was not going to be the one to corrupt her. But he would ignore all the adorable qualities later, he thought himself as she tightened her tiny hands around his larger ones.

In the nurse's office, Sam sat awkwardly on the sick bed with his legs dangling off the edge as the nurse fussed and mussed over him. The moment Dean burst through the office doors with him slung over his shoulder and the pretty girl clinging to him resembling a cliché' action movie poster, the nurse nearly went into shock. She had the softest spot for the youngest Winchester and seeing him there, limply draped over his older brother nearly brought tears to the middle aged woman's eyes. Once Dean put his feet solidly on, she ignored the secretary's widened eyes and questions, gently but firmly grasped young Samuel's hand to guide him in the nurse's room. She attended to his wounds carefully and with love. She even hummed a happy tune while cleaning up the cut on his naturally pouty bottom lip.

"Tsk, tsk," she shook her head as she applied a tad of bactine around a scratch on his forehead. "I heard what happened from your brother. He gave the principal the story and Mr. Jackson will be dealt with."

Sam stayed silent but felt warm heat sting his cheeks. He was so incredibly embarrassed. Not just about the nurses babying but everything in general. He couldn't win that fight, and he had years of training, and Dean had to save him. Again! He dreaded the weekend when his dad would return because like a good toy soldier, Dean would tell him everything, and Dad would be disappointed. Again! Grrrr! Why did he have to be so weak? So small? So…babyish? If only he could be tough and invincible like Dean, Dad would for sure be proud.

"Oh darlin'." The nurse took notice of Sam's red cheeks and watery eyes. "What's the matter? Did the bactine sting too much? Gosh darn it, they said it shouldn't. Those darn-"

"No." Sam shook his head. "I'm okay, Nurse Annie. Really."

"Really?" She gazed skeptically. "Then what about those tears running down your face?"

Sam sniffed and speedily wiped away his tears with his plaid sleeve. "Nothin'." He mumbled.

"Ohhh." She cooed. "Tell Nurse Annie all about it." Her plump fingers came up to pet his dark head relatively similar like she would a wounded puppy.

Sam gazed up Nurse Annie and thought of her as what a good grandmother should be like: older and short with plump hips from too many children. Curly gray hair and petite spectacles perched on the slender bridge of her nose leading up to kind blue eyes with crow's feet flaring at the sides.

"I can't wait to be a grown up." He sighed heavily and slumped his shoulders.

"Now why can't you wait?" She huffed and turned around to bustle over to the trashcan to chuck the spattered red cotton balls.

"Everything would be different." Sam crossed his arms, slightly uncomfortable about the company and the personal thoughts he was sharing to someone he hardly knew.

"Well, you are turning thirteen tomorrow." She beamed. "That will make you a step closer."

"Yeah, I guess." Sam nodded but knew that he would still look the same the next as he did that day. He wanted to be a ma- Wait! "How did you know tomorrow is my birthday?"

"I know all of my favorite patients' birthdays, Sammy." The nurse said over her shoulder as she tidied up her first aid kit.

"Oh."

"So." She said excitedly and shuffled towards him with a wide and warming smile. "What do you wish for your birthday? Hmmm?"

Sam shrugged.

"Oh c'mon. There's gotta be somethin', munchkin."

Sam frowned at the nickname. The nurse meant well but it hit close to home. He was so short! He scoffed and shrugged again, but then it clicked. Like a light bulb.

"I wanna be grown up." He smiled and had to admit how childish it sounded to say 'grown up'.

"Grown up?' She scrunched her nose in fake disapproval. "You don't want a bike or roller blades or whatever it is that you crazy kids want these days. You just want to be grown up?"

"More than anything." He grumbled and swung his dangling legs back and forth

"Don't worry. You'll get there one day. And believe me, youngen, you'll miss the good ole' days of seventh grade English and locker combinations."

"I doubt it." Sam snorted. "If I were grown up, it would be awesome. My dad and brother wouldn't baby me any more 'cause I'd be just as big and as tough as them."

"Well, I guess I can't change your mind." Nurse Annie chuckled and patted Sam on the head. "Now, you are all cleaned up and ready to go. Your brother should be out in the front office waiting to take you home. Now when you get there, get some rest. You'll need it tomorrow."

Sam gave the nurse a funny look and hopped off sick bed. He exited the room and walked up to the front office and saw Dean there in one of the waiting chairs with a knee bouncing impatiently. When he saw his younger brother, he smirked and stood up.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, little dude." He chuckled at Sam's glare. "Don't worry. Chicks dig wounds."

"Where's your arm ornament?" Sam sneered. He wasn't really mad at Dean, but he really needed a punching bag, and his brother was always in his line of vision.

"Sent her onto class." He wrapped a hand around his brother's shoulders and guided him out of the office. Sam shrugged it off when they left the building and started stomping away from Dean.

"Hey, Sammy, what's up with the whole Speedy Gonzales?"

"I just want to get home." Sam grumbled and folded his arms. "Without you calling me Sammy! It's Sam! And without you treating me like a baby! I'm practically thirteen, you know."

Dean merely rolled his light hazel eyes and caught up to Sam. "I know, dude, I know. But you will always be Sammy to me." He patted his younger brother's head with masculine affection and smiled when the shorter tried to swat the hand away.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam cuddled deeper into his pillow, happily breathing in the familiar bleach scent the fabric gave off. He was thirteen! Finally a teenager and one more step to adulthood.

_Oooh, oooh she looked at me with big brown eyes_

_And said:_

_You ain't seen nothin' yet,_

_B-B-B-Baby, you just ain't seen nothin' yet,_

_Here's something that you never gonna forget,_

_B-B-B-Baby, you just ain't seen nothin' yet._

Sam opened an eye when he heard the alarm clock go off and the grunting and moaning noising from the neighboring bed. He heard Dean's bed springs bend and whine as he shifted over on his side to flip the switch off.

"Dude." He heard his brother say in a sleepy moan. "We gotta get up."

Sam didn't hear the neighboring bed springs verifying that Dean must have already gone back to sleep. He thought about joining him, but he felt the bubbling excitement within him waiting to flow. It was his birthday, and Dean said he would take him to the Denny's down the street for pancakes before school.

Sam shoved off the covers and leaped from the bed, speeding away into the bathroom, happy that he would get the first shower as well as a hot shower. Those two things came as a rarity when living with a narcissist older brother and a 'constantly dirty from the job' father. But firsts things first, he needed to go. He lifted up the toilet seat and stared down at it oddly. Not that he really paid attention after years of motels and hotels and lodges, they all looked the same including the toilets. But it wasn't the 'different from yesterday' toilet that struck him. It was how far down it was. His bottom lip found its way in between top and bottom teeth, gnawing on it in deep speculation. His eyes lowered even more to a pair of fairly large feet that were poking out of some elongated, gray pajama pants. The toes wiggled and waved as if to say hello and good morning. Sam frowned and swore he was wearing black pajama pants the following night. He simply summed it up to having a sleep clouded mind and lack of light, shrugged, and pulled down his pants and underwear and…quickly pulled them back up and screamed.

Dean's eyes popped open at the sound of his younger brother screaming from the bathroom and scuttled hazily towards the locked door.

"Sam?" He banged once on the bathroom door. "What's wrong? Who's in there?" Then twice.

He heard Sam whimper. Whimper? Dean thinned his lips and let gravity pull his brows downward.

"Sam, are you sick? Unlock the door!" He gritted out. He wasn't aware what was going on, but he assumed Sam was alone in there. Much to his relief, he heard the door click but not open. He grasped the knob and opened the door to see Sam sitting on the toilet cover, weeping silently, and biting his thumbnail in the dark. When their eyes met, Sam hopped up from the seat and practically leaped onto Dean, embracing him in one gigantic hug and nearly knocking both of them off their feet.

"Dude." Dean managed breathe out worriedly, his arms stuck to his sides by Sam's squeezing. Sam hadn't hugged him this way since his return from Hell. "What's wrong? Why the chick-flick moment?"

Sam had no desire to let go of his brother, but his brother had seen him, right? Dean had seen this new form of Sam, right? Sam backed away and eyed his brother warily.

"What do you mean 'what's wrong'?" He asked and then paused. His voice. It was different. Deeper like a…man's? He shrugged it off momentarily to go along with all of the problems. "Look at me."

He saw Dean's hand reach for the light to his right near the sink and flipped it on. Sam's jaw dropped at the sight of his brother.

"You've changed, too!"

"Sammy," Dean ran an aggravated hand through his already sleep disheveled hair. "What the hell are you talking about? Nothing has changed about me or about you."

Later, Dean would think about that particular statement he made to Sam and realize it was a complete lie.

Sam's heart dropped to his stomach and turned to look in the mirror. He sucked in a breath. There standing next to an older looking Dean was an older Sam. Sam fully positioned himself in front of the mirror and observed. His hair was longer and not as curly. A tad darker, too. His skin tone had changed from a youthful cream color to a light tan. His shoulders were broad and well defined leading down to muscled arms. His torso seemed to stretch on forever. His right hand disappeared beneath the hem of his shirt and instead of feeling the dreaded pudge, he felt hard bumps. Intrigued, he lifted up his white T-shirt approximately six inches and gaped. He wasn't fat anymore. He lifted it up more and frowned. There were two circular shaped black and blue splotches right underneath the curves of his ribcage. Huh? Sam shrugged and turned his attention back to his six pack. Awesome!

"Are you okay, man?" Dean gruffly smeared his hand down his face in a last attempt to wash the sleep from his eyes, not particularly interested in at the bruises his brother sported. "'Cause you're looking at your stomach like it's the Olympic gold medal or something."

"I'm not fat anymore." Sam dropped his shirt and smiled at the older Dean who snorted grumpily. Did Sam really wake him up with a girlish scream for this crap?

"What you talking about, porky? Of course you are."

Sam ignored him due to another revelation.

"I'm taller than you." Sam studied his older brother's head; the dark blonde spikes were more interesting than he remembered. From his and Dean's reflection, he stood about three inches taller than him. Though he had always wanted to be tall, he never really thought about being taller than his older brother. He bit his bottom lip. It didn't feel right.

"Yeaaaaaaah." Dean said slowly and carefully with squinty eyes. "I'm going to ask again if you are okay."

"I don't know." Sam said quietly, looking down at his bare gargantuan feet peeking out from his long flimsy pajama pants. He wiggled his toes once more and then put his gaze back on the figure in the mirror. He felt fine, he guessed. There wasn't any pain on this new form of his. Well, except for those bruises on his stomach. He snaked his hands up shirt and lightly fingered the bruises. They were sore but not life threatening.

"Okaaaay. Um…you obviously have lost some time in between you going to sleep last night and waking up this morning. What is the last thing you remember?" Dean asked slowly and put a comforting hand on his baby brother's shoulder. Dammit, did he ever love this kid. And dammit, what the hell was going on? It couldn't be good that's for damn sure.

Sam studied Dean's reflection and chose to speak to that than actually turning towards its owner. "I went to bed last night after you promised to take me to Denny's for my birthday breakfast."

"It's not your birthday for months, Dude." Dean pointed out. Hell, his own birthday hadn't even come yet. "And I would **not** take you to Denny's if it were. Hooters, bro. All the way."

Sam widened his eyes and lost some color in his cheeks and grimaced. "Gross!"

Dean's eyebrows met his hairline. Sure, Sammy's ideal birthday would not be spent at a Hooters. It would probably be at a library, or a poetry reading café, or spending a day at the spa getting primed and pampered like a pansy-assed girl. However, the morning of Sam's eighteenth birthday, Dean threw out undignified and completely absurd accusations about being a gay virgin. To defend his manhood and to prove to his brother once and for all that he was in fact heterosexual, he let himself be coerced into attending a strip club. And though Sam would have rather spent his birthday studying for his final exams like the big emo geek that he was and still is, he never once described the night he first saw a naked woman as 'gross'. Blush? Yes. Cover his eyes in gentlemanly respect? Yes. But never think or say anything along the lines of being disgusted about the female anatomy.

Dean swallowed. Suddenly, he felt very thirsty and possibly queasy. He parted his lips and sucked in a breath, preparing to ask a question he knew he'd regret.

"How old were you turning?"

"Thirteen."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean sat on the edge of his bed with his head between his legs as Sam watched him curiously on his. Now that he had fully absorbed his new form, he was fascinated with Dean's. Dean hadn't changed too much. He talked the same. Like a lung cancerous cough being dragged across gravel covered road. He walked the same. Like a bowlegged soldier with a swagger full of confidence. His hair was darker. Almost brown. And to the untrained eye it appeared brown, but Sam could see the lighter wisps of blonde that resembled a tone or two shy of light brown sugar.

Dean's face had aged of course, Sam dwelt, still attempting to absorb what his brother had informed him minutes ago. It was 2008. Sam was 25 and Dean was 29. His face no longer held that slight youthful roundness and his brows clenched together without mercy while his lips formed an unpleasant pout-like shape.

Sam gulped.

Dean Winchester prided himself in being one of the most handsome of the human male species. The majority of time in junior high and high school he spent in front of a mirror fixing his hair, washing his face, or making woebegone model expressions. The one Dean was doing right now while slumped over on the edge of his bed was the not one of them. The expression was hideous and made his older brother look old, worn out, and dare he think it...pathetic.

Sam gulped once more. He felt shame and his cheeks colored hotly. He shouldn't think of his brother as pathetic. The word pathetic and Dean do not even belong in the same sentence. Paragraph. Heck, book even.

He watched Dean shake his head like a pendulum between his legs, groaning and moaning. "This isn't happening. Out of all the times this could've happened, it's happening now?"

Dean's head flew up and backwards, guiding his back to land on the bed. His arms were stretched out, taking up the space of the twin bed. He sighed loudly. "I guess I will have to call Bobby."

"Uncle Bobby?" Sam asked curiously thinking of the beloved junkyard keeper who was probably born wearing a baseball cap on top of his head. "Why not Dad?"

Dean, who had been beating both fists into the bed as if it could wake him up from this nightmare, stopped in mid beat, paused for five long seconds, and then let his hands fall limply to his sides. How was he going to answer that question? When their father had died more than two years previously, Sam cried like a man: tears streaming down his cheeks. There had been no body wracking or hysteria. But Sam was 23 then. Sam now was mentally thirteen in a 25 years old body. He would cry like a baby if Dean told him the truth. And he would probably join him.

Dean internally admitted that he never received proper closure from his old man dying and hadn't even let himself have a good heart clenching river making cry. He remembered that year, though, and dammit all to hell if it hadn't been a rough one at best. Zombies, people-eating clowns, H.H. Holms' evil spirit, Sam going missing, Sam going missing again, Sam getting possessed, Sam going missing once more and then Sam dy-

Dean cut himself off abruptly. Yeah, if Sam began to weep over their deceased father, Dean just might make it into a duet production.

"Dad's on hunt in Canada. It's a big deal. I don't want to bother him. Bobby is closer and has the books to help." He lied smoothly and ran a hand through his stick 'em up hair.

"Oh." Sam began to bite his thumbnail nervously. "Kay." He'd never admit it, but he wanted his dad. Like major. Of course he didn't need him like he needed Dean, Sam thought ruefully. As long as he remembered, the old grump that he had often called sir, dad, daddy, papa, or even poppy some time ago when pull ups were the star of the 'Sammy Winchester Getting Dressed Show' was always number two priority. Dean would always be number one. Dean played with him. Laughed with him. Joked with him. Cooked for him. And just loved the crap out of him.

But Dad was...Dad. He wasn't a bad guy. Stubborn, but that was a given considering himself and Dean. And not many people knew this. Snort! Just two. Dad gave good hugs. True, they came few and far between lately, but they were true blue awesome. Dad's arms were strong and they could lift a lion if needs be or even a chubby little kid and squeeze him just enough to make heaven closer than anyone thought.

Dad smelt good, too. Like fresh spicy soap and old leather with a hint of cigarette smoke and when he'd embrace him, it was only natural to cuddle into to a smell which defined safe and pure paternal love. Sam cast his eyes towards his brother and wondered if Dean smelt that same way now. He had seen the leather jacket of Dad's on the little table near the door and wondered if his brother had somehow grew into their father's scent and if Dean would be too macho to be hugged again to let Sam take the time to sniff and find out. It sounded kinda creepy when he thought about it.

The Dean he remembered, however, smelt like something else entirely. And it always changed. Sometimes he could smell warm spring-like scents shooting out of his brother's pours: much like a basket of hot laundry fresh from the dryer. Other times like vanilla, chocolate, coffee, cinnamon, and all manner of scents due to Dean's feminine flavor of the week. That Theresa girl made his brother smell like pecan roasted hot chocolate. Sigh! Sam's attention drifted towards his brother once more. Dean smelt like what a home should smell like. Dean was his home.

Dean laid there for a few moments before rolling on his side and reaching for some type of device. Sam eyed it with keen interest. The device had a long black cord shoved into its side which plugged into the wall.

"What's that?" Dean heard Sam ask as he fiddled with the contacts on his phone.

"What's what?" He put his view on Sam. Sam pointed at the object in his hand with a curious glimmer in his eye.

"That?" Sam asked then drew back his hand to continue chewing on thumbnail.

"This?" Dean raised it up with his hand to give Sam a better view.

"Yeah." Sam shook his head innocently, his eyes wide with wonder. It was shiny and kinda cool looking.

"It's a cell phone, Sam." Dean informed him slowly and Sam's eyes widened. That shiny cherry red device was a cell phone?

"Wow." He breathed. "They are a lot cooler looking now then they used to be."

Dean's frown of concern turned into smirked and felt his heart flutter. His brother was such a kid. He had just been thrown twelve years into the future, and Dean hadn't a clue how to handle it. What was he supposed to do? Maybe one thing at a time. Shrug.

"Dude, you have no idea." He chuckled at the memory of the bulging black bricks people were forced to carry around in case of emergency.

"Can I uh…" Sam looked down nervously at his large feet and swallowed. "Can I uh...look at it when you are done?"

Dean smiled. "No." He shook his head and almost gave in when Sammy's bottom lip slightly protruded outward. "But you can look at your own."

Sam's pout transformed into a small disbelieving smile. "I have my own? You and Dad actually let me have my own?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded slowly and gestured to nightstand with his head. Sam's eyes widened with awe at the contraption and gingerly picked it up. It was small in his large hands; he feared he'd crush it with ease if he wasn't careful.

"Wow!" He breathed an exited breath at the forest green cell phone, but then frowned.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Dean asked his pouting little brother.

"It doesn't look like yours." He mumbled and sagged his broad shoulders. Dean almost laughed. He remembered the argument they had a few weeks ago in the Verizon Wireless store about whose phone was more awesome. Dean's was the latest model of a cherry red Chocolate as for Sam's was a fancy shmancy green Trance that had the digits on the outside with a screen and speakers as the inside had a decked out keyboard and another screen.

"That's okay. Yours is just as cool if not cooler than mine." Dean assured with a lie and ruffled Sam's hair. He remembered Sam secretly loved that as a kid even thought he repetitively claimed otherwise.

"Yeah?" Sam questioned hopefully, but not fully buying into Dean's claim.

"Yeah." Dean nodded and took the boy's cell phone into his own hands and flipped it open. Sam's jaw dropped at all the buttons and colors but was mostly in awe of what was on the screen. It was him and Dean. Well, his grown up self and grown up Dean. And they were both smiling and Dean had an arm slung casually around his brother's shoulder. From the background, it looked like some sort of run of the mill bar and grill.

"That's so cool!" Sam exclaimed. "That's us!"

"Yep." Dean kept the smiles at bay. The simplest things he himself took for granted was making his younger brother unbearably happy.

"So we are like…best friends!" Sam grinned fully, dimples and all. Dean wondered when the last time Sam had smiled like that.

"We sure as hell are." Dean said with his own full grin, however, the feeling wasn't there. Yes, he considered his baby brother his best friend completely but the past few months had for sure been weighing down on the both of them. "We are two stud brothers slash best friends who kick supernatural ass."

"Whoa! So like…" Sam's eye's lightened up with excitement and maybe a little bit a fear and possibly dread. "I can go hunting now? Dad won't get mad and start babying me?"

Dean's smile faltered and mist threatened to blur his vision and the memory of him and his father babying Sam until he had left for college. It would almost sound ridiculous if he wasn't Dean Winchester and if Dad hadn't been Dad. Sam did make it out into hunting grounds eventually. Sixteen came quickly and so did Sammy's height. Of course by then, Sam wasn't interested in participating in the hunt anymore. He found school, homework, college prepping, and occasionally cute girls to be much more fun than hunting a restless spirit in the woods in nine degree weather with a shotgun full of salt in hand and a rosary in the other.

"No." Dean half choked half chortled. "No, he won't get mad. You are a man now, Sam." And for some reason when Dean said that, he felt a part of him die and wither away. Sam, his baby brother, was indeed a man and didn't really need Dean to care of him anymore. (Well, at least not until this morning.) He shook his head to clear his thoughts. This was weird and so…silly. Yes, he thought it. Silly. Thirteen year old Sam trapped in a 25 year old Sam's body. It was like a damned chick flick movie and he needed to call Bobby. Like now!

"I'm calling Bobby." Dean handed back Sam's phone which he eagerly took while Dean dialed the familiar number of his 'Uncle' Bobby.

_"What didja ya idjits do this time?"_ Bobby snapped after the second ring.

"What makes you think there is anything wrong?" Dean asked defensively and quite peeved Bobby hadn't even said 'hello' or 'Dean, how's things goin?'

_"Well…it's Thursday."_ Bobby muttered and Dean let that one slide. Thursdays kinda did suck.

"Well, there is a problem but befo-"

_"Of course there is, boy."_ Dean imagined Bobby sitting at his kitchen table shaking his head and doing inventory of his weaponry. "The world's ending."

"It's not that kind of problem, Bobby." Dean began and brought his free fingers to his forehead to rub the ache which was slowly but painfully announcing its unwelcoming presence. "Sam has lost...cough...Sam has lost...sigh...a little bit of time."

Silence. Breath. Sigh.

_"When you say lost time, you mean..."_ Bobby trailed on.

"He doesn't remember the last twelve in half years!" Dean shouted. And it wasn't a mean shout. Like a 'you are a moron slash retard slash amigo estupido' but a 'don't make me say it or it might be real' kind of shout.

And Bobby knew that. Bobby knew Dean Winchester's tones of voices like the innards and the outtards of his artillery. And he wasn't angry or pissed at the slightest that the boy chose to yell in the phone. Nevertheless, the phone line went dead on Dean.

"Son of a..." Dean stared at his phone in awe and maybe with a slight disappointing shock. Did Bobby just hang up on him? He'd never done that before. Dad had. Sam had. Never Bobby. Bobby was loyal and loved him and his brother like his own kin to which he didn't have. Dean was aware of the affection and knew it when the old man would let him and his brother talk about anything. Perspectives, thoughts, and even crazy embellished stories when it's been a bad and fruitless hunting week. And he would listen. Perhaps with an incredulous sneer or an eye roll or deathly glares, but the dude would listen.

When Dean was just about to throw his phone against the wall with a dramatic howl of loss, the phone squelched its rocking rhythm and vibrations with its complimentary banner displaying Uncle Bobby. That rare moment, Dean had no pride. He answered immediately.

_"I'm sorry, boy."_ Bobby mumbled truthfully. _"I didn't mean to hang up on ya. It's just...sigh...Twelve years? Are ya sure?"_

Dean's eyes wandered over to his entranced little brother who was giggling and pushing buttons on his phone with ample amounts of glee. He began to rethink the whole twelve year gap and assume it was twenty years instead.

"Positive."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: I would like to thank those who have been reading and reviewing my story. I am flattered and quite bashful by the compliments. I hope to all those who are reading this literary piece of monstrosity that has taken over my existence will continue to enjoy it. In the reviews, I have had a couple of questions regarding the events that may be occurring in the past. Is 'present Sam' chillin' in 1996 and what's happening? Well, I haven't really decided yet if I am going to open that door. I am afraid doing that would make my fic too busy. I have so much in store and I can't promise it will fit. If I do choose to pick that lock, I hope to think it would make a great sequel. *Wink-wink* I am sorry to disappoint those who were looking forward to seeing drama-ody and chaos ensue with future Sam clashing with teen Dean and Daddy Winchester. I send much kisses and hugs and thanks to everyone! Xoxo

Sam Winchester was starving.

Or so he said.

When Sam had so clearly stated this fact with his arms encircling his stomach and a pained pitiful expression on his boyish features, Dean's jaw dropped to the floor with a loud ker-plunk and gaped.

For a good long minute.

Or two.

Dude. That little punk was never hungry. He would order the smallest and healthiest thing on the menu and pick at it while fiddling with his laptop: searching out a hunt or tracking down Lilith.

Lilith.

Dean swallowed a healthy gulp of coffee. Damn the skanky little skank. Good thing they'd be shacking up at Bobby's in only a few hours. He could only imagine what'd happen if word of Sammy's condition got swept off into the wind and Lilith caught a drift of it.

Dean shook his head and scratched his two day growth of stubble with one hand and brought towards the steaming cup of coffee towards his lips with the other. It smelt like heaven and more than likely, it'd be the closest thing he got to the celestial setting. He and Sam were currently residing in a pleasant little restaurant, and Sam kept fidgeting.

"Stop. Moving." Dean raised his eyebrows and zeroed a warning look at Sam while covering his younger brother's shaking and fiddling hands with his own. He pressed his brother's palm flat against the cold surface of the table with uncomfortable pressure.

"I can't, Dean." Sam slightly tilted his head back and bunched his brows due to impatience of a pubescent teen only muster. He yanked his hand away and partially stuck his bottom lip out. "I'm hungry."

"Hi, Hungry." Dean smirked and playfully stuck out his hand. "I'm Dean."

"Dee-eeen!" Sam whined and swatted the hand away. "I hate it when you do that. It's like you don't even care."

"Sam." Dean rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to laugh. Despite this whole situation being impossibly serious, watching his 6'4 brother act like a teenage drama queen sent rushes of glee throughout Dean's 'older brother' system. "Look at yourself. You have been well-fed and the waitress will be here soon. Until then drink your drink and shut up."

HARRUMPH!

And a bitch-face morphed its way on to Sam. Loud and obnoxious it was.

"Hey, boys." The cute redheaded waitress winked at the two succulent specimens before her, and her heart rate quickened as she pulled her pad into her palm along with a pen. "Welcome to Biggerson's. I see you have your drinks." She eyed the rough looking one's macho black coffee and the other's chocolate milk. He was adorable in that 'take me home and mother me and love me' kind of way. The way he was sucking up the rich liquid through a straw made her want plant kisses all over his perfect face. "What can I get you to eat this morning?"

"Well, sweetheart." The rough one said with a mischievous wink whose voice matched appearance. Perfect like his companion but was rugged and dangerous and everything her mother and especially her daddy warned her to stay away from. "I'll take the buttermilk pancakes with a side of sausage, bacon, and hash browns, please." He patted his belly and winked once more at the waitress whose name was Ellie. She blushed and smiled a dazzling one with close to perfect teeth. Dean noticed her left canine was tilted just a hair of a fraction.

Her looks were very much appreciated by Dean but quickly lost interest in her. Now was not the time for flirty words and cute girly giggles. His brother wanted another chocolate milk and damn the world and the apocalypse if the kid didn't get one.

"I also want the Belgian waffle with whip cream and strawberries with sausage, bacon, and hash browns, too, please, ma'am." Sam told waitress with wide and shy puppy eyes and for a split second Dean thought she would pass out from how cute and utterly loveable he came across. 'Cause geesh! He sure about did.

"Of course, Darlin'" Ellie cooed. Oh my gaaaahsh! This boy was yuhhh-meee and sweet! Her break was coming up and she was going to spend it watching him eat. Mmmm! That whip cream! Maybe she should accidently drop the meal on his face. But no problem. She'd clean him up with a few good licks. Very slow ones of course.

Dean eyed the waitress warily as she walked away and towards the kitchen. He didn't like the way she was staring at his brother. It reminded him of how Ruby stared at him when she thought neither of them were looking. I mean c'mon. Doesn't the girl have a little self-control? Scoff!

To much of Dean's astonishment, Sam ate his breakfast similar to starving lion that had just been thrown a plump cow. The older brother searched for a memory when Sam had last eaten like that. It'd been years. Not since the little dude's last growth spur at eighteen.

They ate their breakfast in silence: Sam completely enthralled with his food and Dean eating bits and pieces every so often. He mostly just analyzed his younger brother and making a list of what could've caused this. He had asked a few questions back at the motel but nothing pertaining to how the situation could've happened. He'd wait. Bobby's place wasn't far.

The pretty waitress refilled the rough one's cup with a longing expression directed at the gentle emo one. The boy completely ignored her passes and flirty-ness. Pout!

Dean paid the bill and motioned for Sam to follow him back outside. While they were walking towards the Impala, Dean noticed that Sam was walking at least two feet behind. Which was more than likely impossible considering Sam's length in legs. He was doing it on purpose. Dean didn't feel like asking him about it.

Dean walked around to the driver's side of the car when seeing that Sam got into the car safely. Absurd, he knew, but the gigantic doofus had hit his head while climbing in this morning when leaving the motel and then once more when getting out.

He opened the door and was about to be bend to slide onto the seat when a strong hand gripped that place right below his shoulder and spun him around. He was met with a pair a black eyes burning with hatred. For a millisecond, he thought he was back in Hell. He saw many a black eyes down there. White eyes. Red eyes.

That millisecond of dwelling cost him a bruise, for a fist came flying into his jaw landing a well prized uppercut. The back of Dean's skull collided with the resiliant metallic surface of his baby with a sickly *thump*.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dean!" He heard his baby brother cry from inside the car.

"Stay in the c-" Dean was cut off by another blow, but this one into his stomach. Specifically, where Dean reckoned his liver dwelt underneath skin and muscle tissue. The intense pain caused his knees to give out on him. As he slid down the side of the car, he swore he felt his liver pulsate from the blow. Damn this son of a bitch demon.

Dean's bottom hit the asphalt of the parking lot not too soon before he received a kick to ribs and tasted a teasing flavor of copper at the back of tongue. Blood was roaring around in his head, his heart kept hammering against his chest as if it were trying to find a way out of his body.

With much difficulty, Dean lifted his chin to catch a glimpse at his attacker. The demon had chosen some muscled biker with black leather chaps and steel toed leather cowboy boots. There were tattoos up and down both muscled arms leading up to a thick beefy neck that a vampire's teeth would get caught in and an ink black handle bar mustache with color matching eyes and eyebrows.

"Dean!" Sam cried once more and opened the Impala's door to jump out and help his older brother from the crazy biker. He was just thinking how he was going to when instead of jumping out, he was painfully yanked out by the arm and pushed to the ground by a man who was also dressed in biker gear. The knees in his jeans ripped exposing the tender flesh underneath. Sam tried to scamper away from the man but failed when he was flipped and flattened forcefully.

"Well, well, well." The man eyed him something akin to hate and enjoyment. Sam gulped and his heart sped up. Where was Dean? Was he okay? Sam couldn't hear anything coming from the other side of the car, frightening him more. "What do we have here? Well, if it isn't the half-blood boy king."

"Please!" Sam begged and tears sprang up and out of his tear ducts. "Just leave us alone. We didn't do anything." Sam, though confused as to what the man called him, had other worries. Like staying alive.

"Right." The man drawled while towering over Sam and lifted his hand close to his face to make a fist. "Lilith sends her love." And his fist came down.

It was broken. Had to be. Dean could barely see straight. Hear straight. Think straight. The demon had broken his arm. His ribs were for sure going to be out of commission for a week or so, but his arm would take a while to heal. The knife was in the car. Stupidly, Dean left it there in the glove box thinking that breakfast would be a fast and simple event without any supernatural entity confrontment. Dammit, he should've known better. Like Bobby said, it was Thursday.

The biker demon landed a kick to his leg and then picked up his victim and threw him flat on the asphalt. Dean landed with a sickly and liquid-like 'oomph'. Pain shot up through his spine and the base of his skull once more. He winced and tried to turn over so he could crawl away on his hands and knees fully aware that it'd be fruitless but when self-preservation comes knocking, one opens the door regardless if it's as big as a flee.

Dean was able to get onto his knees but was only able to use one hand as his other arm was nursed to his torso. His back was now facing the demon. He had to crawl away and get help. Sam was somewhere near. At least Dean hoped. Where was Sam? He remembered the kid calling his name and the passenger door opening. Where did he go? Was he okay? His thoughts seized when the demon cackled and clapped.

"My, my, my Winchester. You really don't give up do you?" The demon applauded with false praise while stalking behind Dean's hunched figure.

Dean awkwardly and painfully tried to crawl away from his attacker when he heard the demon's boots coming closer up behind him and felt a hand grip the back of his jacket and crinkle into a fist. Dean's eyes closed shut for another blow to come or even death to arrive. To his surprise, the hand let go and Dean heard a very distinct and harsh 'bitch'.

What came after, Dean wasn't entirely sure. His head was buzzing and he was weighing the pros and cons of whether to pass out or not. He thought he heard punching noises and grunts and possibly a few cusswords.

His eyes drooped heavily, but shot open when he heard, "Dean!"

"S'mmy." He coughed and attempted to crane his head towards the direction of his brother's voice. When he felt the younger one's touch, Dean decided it'd be okay if he let his eyes shut for just a second.

Dean collapsed on to the ground at Sam's feet the minute he touched his brother's shoulder drawing a small 'eep' out his mouth. Vastly, Sam bent his scraped knees to the ground and carefully turned over his older brother.

Dad and Dean had taught him ample amounts about first aid, and the first thing that Sam needed to do was to assess the damage. Only he was scared stiff. The information which had been stuffed down his throat flew away for the winter. For the life of him, Sam Winchester could not remember what to do. His bottom lip wobbled at the state of his brother and tears began to spill.

"Dean." He whimpered and ran a hand through his brother's hair. "Wake up." He stared at the unconscious body of the attacker a few feet away and then at the legs standing over it.

"Will you please help me, ma'am? My brother is not waking up. I don't know what do."

The legs stood. Unmoving and constant, making Sam nerves increase in instability. He choked on a sob and cast his eyes back onto his brother. He supposed he could run back inside the restaurant and call for help, but that'd require leaving Dean's side. What if more bad people showed up and...Sam didn't want to think about that and sent a pleading look at the legs which were stepping over the unconscious man and coming closer. They stopped at Sam's side and bent towards the ground, so they were kneeling side by side.

"Does he need to go to the hospital?" Sam managed to choke out through thick free flowing tears shedding uncontrollably from his eyes not even wetting his cheeks. They gravitated downward to dampen Dean's.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I would like to say thanks again to those who are reading and reviewing _Too Young Too Be Too Old_. I'd also like to prepare my readers for this chapter and the next couple which are coming up ahead. Ruby will be making an appearance, but I am in no way intentionally trying to come across as a Ruby fanatic. However, there will be mention of her and Sam's ridiculous relationship (if that's what people are calling it these days) and even some of her inner thoughts. Scary, yes. I agree, but I did attempt to pull some humor out of it. I do promise her appearance will not last forever. I have other appearances of other characters next in line so have no fear. Furthermore, if you have yet to run away from this warning and have faith that I am not leading you down a disturbing path, enjoy this chapter and the ones that follow.

Dean Winchester was feeling pretty good at the moment. His veins pulsated rhythmically while his heart lightly thumped in his chest. Like his body was humming with 'chill-axing' delight. It was all quite…nice. Sigh! Even the horrendous florescent lighting didn't bother him. All he had to do was close his eyes and…Oh yes!

"Mr. Perry?"

…

"Mr. Perry? Will you please wake up?"

…

"Mr. Perry?"

Dean unwillingly fluttered one eye open. His other for some reason wasn't opening. The working orb landed on a blurry figure with a yellow head and a green body. Bird? Hmm.

"Mr. Perry, can you hear me?"

Perry? Hmm. Nod.

"Good. Can you speak?"

Speak? Of course he could. He wasn't freakin' two.

He parted his lips and…that's it. He poked his tongue out to wet his lips and to create some lubrication. Once more, he tried to speak and failed. The green bird with the yellow head stepped closer with an outstretched arm. Dean carefully gazed down to his chest. The thing's hand was centimeters away from his chest with a plastic cup in offering.

Gulp, gulp, gulp! Sigh! What a nice bird. The water was glorious. Cold but not too cold. Cough! Ahem.

"Can you speak?" The bird questioned and Dean blinked a few times. With each blink, the bird morphed into something more human. Smirk! Quite a hot one, too. Dean's one working eye lazily traveled the womanly form of the nurse.

"You betcha I can, sweetheart." Dean graveled out.

"Wonderful." She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Are you feeling any discomfort?"

"Not a thing!" He drawled, still trying to work his charm, unaware of his 'run through the ringer literally' appearance.

"Okay." She laughed once more and eyed the patient's monitor. "I will let your doctor know, so he can tell your brother and sister. They are sitting in the waiting room."

Dean's brow furrowed. Sister?

The hospital waiting room smelled of bleach and death. The Winchesters hated them. It was one of the few things they all agreed on. Hospitals were a terrible place based off of good intentions which made things worse. Growing up Winchester meant black and white. Evil is evil and good is good. Sam understood that good came out of hospitals, but he had been in so many for the past thirteen years for bad reasons, it was hard to see the those good things.

When Sam Winchester grew up, he did not want to be in the medical field. He almost smiled at that. He was grown up. And he was hunting with his brother. Sam couldn't imagine a different way of living. Well, that was a lie. He often wondered what normalcy felt like. It probably didn't feel like a dull pain forming at the bottom of his spine because hospital chairs were uncomfortable.

Sam leaned back into said uncomfortable chair to ease the tension that was forming. The doctor said he'd be out soon to tell him about his brother. When was soon? It had been at least two hours since that liar had said 'soon'.

Dean better be okay, Sam thought and bounced his knee impatiently and wrung his hands. He turned his head to the person next to him. They hadn't spoken since they gently hauled Dean into the back seat of the Impala. Okay, more like argued. So what if he didn't know how to drive? He was only thirteen for crying out loud. He said this and she gave him a look of horror. She actually looked like she wanted to run away. Her gaze had shifted past him and way behind him. She then turned her head towards the direction she had magically appeared from. And it was quite magical. One moment, the biker man's beefy hand was descending, threatening to make contact with his face and the next, she flew out from someplace and attacked like a ravenous tigress on a baby gazelle.

Sam had been grateful that she hadn't run away when he mistakenly told her that he was thirteen. She did, however, gulp, fish for the keys on his brother's person, and climb into the driver's seat. She had stared at the steering wheel for a brief second with her hands carefully hovering over it like she was afraid to touch it before plunging the key into the ignition and driving to the hospital.

"I never asked for your name. I'm sorry." Sam said to girl next to him who sat rigidly straight in her seat boring holes into the wall across the room with her eyes. "I'm Sam and thank you for saving me and my brother. I don't know how I will ever repay you."

His words jolted her like an electric shock, for she jumped an inch or two out of her chair. He saw her brows furrow and lips part like she was about to say something but was too baffled to speak. Honestly, she looked horrified, upset, and like she was struggling with her conscious.

"I'm sorry." Sam said softly to the girl who still hadn't turned to face him. "I didn't mean to frighten you." His gaze fell down to her hand which was white-knuckling the armrest of her chair. Gently and cautiously he placed his gigantic one over it. The girl's eyebrows shot up and her head whipped down to speculate what was going on down there in alarm like she couldn't believe he just _touched_ her. The abrupt motion caused pieces of her hair to fall over her face, shielding him from a clear shot of the heroin. Sam jerked his hand back and was about to apologize when the girl spoke.

"You didn't." She whispered with her eyes still down. She swallowed and let out a breath that made Sam wonder if she'd been holding it since the parking lot. "I'm Ruby."

"That's a pretty name." Sam smiled, glad that she had spoken and some of the awkwardness had been lifted. "Oh and did you know it's a Latin based name. It perfectly translates into red. It's also a gem or jewel or whatever, but you probably already knew that."

Though her hair still obstructed his gaze, he could see a small smile form on her lips. She brought her hand up and tucked a lock of hair behind her hair and straightening her neck, so she was eye level with Sam. She was pretty, he guessed in that grown up kind of way.

Sam had yet to see the significance in the opposite sex. Sure, he could recognize a pretty girl, but it didn't turn him into a mumbling idiot like he saw happen to a lot of boys his age. Too be honest, he actually hadn't even had his first crush yet. Hmmm. Sam eyed the girl next to him speculatively. He wondered if she could be his first crush.

Sam thought about it longer.

And grimaced.

She was old. Pretty but old.

Ruby had long brown hair and full lips and had widely almond shaped brown eyes with animated eyebrows hovering over them. 'Dean would like her,' Sam mused, 'even though she is kinda old. He's kinda old, too.'

By living with his brother all his life, Sam noticed many things concerning Dean's interest in girls. To put it plainly, 'girl' was his brother's type regardless of eye color, hair color, physique, height, and personal interest. However, Dean did have preferences. There was only one type of girl that made Dean go bonkers. Long brown hair, dark eyes, gorgeous face, with a side of kick-ass!

"And your name." She began steadily as if in a trance, "It's Hebrew. Samuel means 'His name is God'." She paused to close her eyes and take another breath and smiled once more. Sam found her mannerisms to be completely fascinating.

"Ruby Perry!" A nurse with two clipboards called out into the waiting room. Sam watched her walk across the room and retrieve the clipboard. She nodded at the nurse's word. Sam tried to lip-read everything the two were saying but could only make out 'Dean' and 'stable'.

When the two finished conversing, Ruby retreated and shoved one of the clipboards into Sam's middle.

"Hey!" Sam exclaimed in surprise and attempted to shove the thing away. Ruby ignored him and snaked her hand into Sam's coat pocket and pulled out a wallet.

"Hey! That's Dean's!" Sam hissed and reached to get it back. "What are you doing?"

"Hush!" She elbowed him lightly with arm to bat his offending limb from coming in contact with what she was doing. She dug through the cards, completely ignoring the cash and spoke, "Fill out your clipboard. I don't know anything about your brother's medical history."

Sam eyed the papers on the clipboard. He sighed, "I don't really either."

Ruby paused mid-fiddle and narrowed her eyes at the boy next to her. She sucked a breath through her teeth.

"Well, guess!"

Sam jumped at her screech, confused how quickly her demeanor changed from quietly timid to point blank PMS.

He watched her whip out one of the cards and jot down some information on her clipboard. He craned his head to get a better view.

Oooooh.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you sure the hospital won't find out…uh, Ruby?" Sam fearfully eyed the receptionist at the front desk and then eyed the pissed brunette beside him.

"I'm sure they will eventually, Sam." She whispered in exasperation. Sam didn't mean to make her cross with him, but lying was something he was uncomfortable with, and this was a very big lie. The biggest lie he ever told in his whole life. His dad had done it before with him and Dean. Like the time Dean had to have his tonsils out or when Sam had appendicitis. John whipped out his fake ID accompanied with fake medical insurance when the occasion called for it. "But we will be gone by the time they do."

"Dean, too." Sam's voice raised several octaves and Ruby almost blew a gasket. She counted to ten and turned towards the man she adored in her own way.

"Yes." She gritted through her teeth because heaven forbid if that chauvinistic pain in the ass got left behind. It certainly would make things easier for her. Ruby sighed and mentally shook her head to zap that thought away. The fantasy was nice, but the reality was not. It was the reason and the only damned reason why she hadn't taken care of Dean a long time ago. When he's away, Sam is unable to function. She needed him functioning. It's like they were one person or like some sort of package deal. If you buy a Sam you get a free Dean and vice versa. It's impossible to buy the items separately. They are like shampoo and conditioner. Peanut butter and jelly. Pancakes and syrup. Cheeseburgers and French fries.

Mmmm! Sam would be the fries.

Ruby turned to face Sam who stared at her with obvious panic etched on his ridiculously gorgeous face. She wanted to eat French fries off that face…again. She did a couple of days ago when Sam tracked her down to her current hotel room.

_Ruby had just finished showering off her hunt and was wrapped in the fluffy soft robe the five star hotel provided. She was perched on the king size bed comfortably eating her room service fries and watching Buffy on the television when she heard a banging on the door._

"_Go away!" She yelled without taking her eyes of the screen. Buffy was so awesome! She preferred Faith, though. She was more badass. _

"_It's me." She heard Sam say through the door. Ruby unwillingly tore her eyes from the screen and onto the door. She popped another fry into her mouth thoughtfully. Hmm._

_With a sigh, she got up from her comfy position and padded to the door. When she opened it, she was met with a very mad puppy. She snorted at him. What the hell did he have to be pissed about? He just got his brother back not too long ago. Five hundred topside years ago, she would have loved nothing more than to have that._

"_Where have you been, Ruby?" He glowered and shouldered his way past her. She closed the door and watched him sit on the edge of the bed, hunching his shoulder so his elbow rested on the top of his thighs. "I need it, Ruby. Like you said, it's the best way I can defeat Lilith."_

"_It's only been a week, Sam." Ruby countered and folded her arms. "And I've been busy." She tapped her foot impatiently. "And I told you to not become too dependent on my blood. I offer it to assist you, Sam, not support you!"_

_Snarl!_

"_I can't do anything without it!" Sam exclaimed, throwing up his hands in defeat._

"_That's because you choose not to." Ruby shot back, arms still folded and foot still tapping with impatience. "Once you feel a slight tickle in that thick oversized skull of yours, you come crying to me begging me to be your damned aspirin! Grow up, Samuel!"_

"_Don't call me that. And I've come to you before when I haven't needed to…" Sam hesitated over his words. He was well aware of what he was doing but saying out loud was something else entirely._

"_Yeah!" Ruby scoffed and unfolded her arms to throw them up with wide spread fingers to get her point across. "To screw me." _

_Sam lowered his chin and drifted his gaze to nowhere in particular and whispered petulantly, "I have needs."_

"_Shut up!" Ruby snapped and stomped towards the nightstand. Yanking open the drawer noisily, she pulled out a little knife. Violently pulling up the plush and very stainable material of her sleeve, she then shoved the blade towards Sam. He eyed it with disinterest. Ruby's barefoot began to tap once again._

"_Well!" She hissed. "Aren't you going to cut me?" _

_Sam glowered and lowered his gaze to the floor at his gigantic scuffed boots. Ruby watched him stoop his chin down, shame seeping up to flush his cheeks. He shook his head from left to right to answer her question. With a heavy scoff of disgust, she threw the knife back into the drawer. _

"_Go away, Sam." Ruby demanded in harsh annoyance with her back towards him. She heard the bed shift and a sigh from Sam. Slightly, she turned her head towards him to watch him stalk towards the door with slumped shoulders of defeat. When his hand touched the door knob, he paused and then whirled around with fury._

"_You know what, Ruby?" Sam exclaimed. "You are a demon!"_

_Snort! "Oh really, Sam? How'dya figure?" Ruby quirked her brows and sneered._

"_That's not what I meant!" Sam took a deep breath. "You are a demon! A monster. And I will not…" He flared his nostrils. "I will NOT feel guilty by offending you or being a bastard to you. The truth is, Ruby, that you probably deserve a lot worse. Fine, you're helping me with trying to defeat Lilith. And when I do, this," He waved a flat palm in the air between him and Ruby "whatever this is. Is over. You can be… or wear who ever you want, but I won't be with you, okay? I mean," Sam chuckled and shook his head. "I don't mean to sound shallow, but the only reason why I tolerate you is because of Coma Girl's appearance. And well…you are not a real girl. You know that, right?"_

_When Sam had finished his speech, he spared a glance at his audience._

_With all her damned might, Ruby tried to ease the pink splotches away from her face. She did NOT want Sam to know that he affected her in anyway._

_Hell, she wasn't sad. Oh no! She was almost positive that she couldn't feel sadness. The barely there pinpricks stinging her eyes would be ignored._

_She was pissed, however._

_And slightly proud._

_But mostly pissed!_

_How dare that self-righteous, arrogant, piece of ass speak to her that way? Like he had any right! Like he was soooo much better than she?_

_Pfft! In his and his brother's dreams._

_At least Ruby knew what she was. DAMNED. And soon, Sam would be, too._

_Sometimes Ruby felt pangs of regret plague her mind. Too often than she liked. Those pangs would come at the times when Sam was just being himself. Like when he laughed at something he thought was funny. Given, it was a rare thing to here by her ears but occasionally did happen. Or how cute he looked when he was engrossed in a book, his hands and nose glued to the pages like some college geek. A characteristic he'd yet to leave behind from school and one that she secretly adored._

_But most of the time, she had no regrets. No freakin' pangs of self-loathing due to her actions because of moment like these. Sam didn't treat her very good. Thus, she knew they were hardly of 'item friendly' status. But he damned well should respect her! She's killed for him, bled for him whether it be for his power or for his trust. But most importantly, she spread her legs for him._

_Before Sam could think to prepare himself, a terry clothed demonic force pushed him backwards into the door. Painfully, the door knob stabbed into his lower back. Shocked from the force and throb, he stood stumped as Ruby gripped his lapels and used her demon strength to hurl him onto the bed. He land with a small 'pfff.' Quickly and viscously, she climbed over him, kneeling on top of him. His eyes popped open and then squeezed shut in pain and discomfort. Her knees were pushing painfully into his stomach right below his ribcage while she was curled over making sure she left bruises. Her hands wrapped around his neck tightly but not too threateningly. She didn't want to damage the merchandise…too much. Just to hold him in place. Sam tried to buck her off, but she was resilient and furious. Her eyes blackened and she was breathing harshly through her nose._

"_I am a real girl!" Ruby hissed through clenched teeth with a shaky voice. So incredibly furious that quakes travelled throughout her body. "I may not be human, but I am a real girl! I like hair products. My favorite brand is Garnier Fructis. This girl's hair does crazy things and that crap is the only crap that will tame it. I like make up and taking care of my skin with expensive cleansers and moisturizers, so I don't break out. Did you know that I can get pimples? It's awful! And I like shopping! And I'm not talking just about ammo, doofus! I like a good pair of jeans and not just a regular pair for hunting. I like a nice snug pair of skinny jeans. Oh! And did you ever once notice that my toe nails are always painted? There painted right now!" Ruby tilted her head to the side gesturing towards her toes and then bent down so her lips were centimeters from Sam's. He wasn't struggling that much anymore, but his eyes filled with fear and his puffs of breaths were shallow on Ruby's lips due to her grip on his neck. She eased the tense muscles in her face and widened her eyes and gave them a twinkle of mischief and matched it with a smirk. She then exhaled the rest of the air she had been holding in her lungs onto Sam's face and whispered, "They're pink."_

_Sam would have swallowed if Ruby's hands were not wrapped around his air way. He relaxed his body thinking that the she-demon on top of him had finished her rant and was going to get off of him. Or you know… at least allow him get on top of her. He was oooh so wrong. Seconds after Ruby's lips finished the 'K' from the pink, her face scrunched up again in dismay and screamed, "Did you know that that's my favorite color? You didn't even ask, you pompous a-hole! You'll sleep with me but never ask anything about me. I like flowers, too! And don't for a second think that I like pink roses or pink carnations or some generic crap like that! I like yellow roses! And in reference to Ben and Jerry comment, I do in fact love their ice cream. My favorite is Half Baked! I also like boys and only boys! And oh! And here is the BIGGEST OH of them all, Samuel John Winchester! I get horrible and very unwelcome visits from my Aunt Flow every month whether I like it or not! So let me ask you something, you horrible excuse for a boyfriend slash sex partner slash boy king. Am I a girl or not?"_

_Ruby released her grip from Sam's neck. He was about to answer her question but stopped when her fist flew to the French fry filled plate beside them, picked up a handful of fries, dropped the warm slivers of potato on his face. His mouth flew open, ready to exclaim in protest but halted when he felt a hot wet mouth licking and eating up where the fries had landed and in some places they hadn't._

Of course, she had exaggerated most of her rant. But who really cared? She was still a girl, right? Ruby mentally shrugged. Who cared?

Sam could be so whiney! When Ruby had first introduced herself to him back when she'd been blonde and bitchier, she couldn't believe how awful this boy was. Temper tantrums and hissy fits and sissy arguments and GUH! She wanted to yank down his trousers to make sure she wasn't dealing with freakin' Samantha Mary Winchester, Girl Queen Extraordinaire!

Sigh!

At least she found a way to silence him for a little while. Seducing Sam had been for countless of reasons. The number one reason had been to shut him up and temporarily neutralize his emo-ness. The second reason had been to ensure her safety with him in the future and attain his trust. The third reason, which is funny because the third reason used to be the first, was because he was a hot piece of masculinity. The fourth and fifth reasons may not matter anymore because of the horrific scene Ruby was currently witnessing.


	9. Chapter 9

_At least she found a way to silence him for a little while. Seducing Sam had been for countless of reasons._ The number one reason _had been to shut him up and temporarily neutralize his emo-ness. The second reason had been to ensure her safety with him in the future and attain his trust. The third reason, which is funny because the third reason used to be the first, was because he was a hot piece of masculinity. The fourth and fifth reasons may not matter anymore because of the horrific scene Ruby was currently witnessing._

"Isn't it so cool? I mean look at that color! It's so shiny and green! I can't believe my dad let me have one! It's so awesome! And check this out! Picture of me and Dean! We are so tight, me and him! We are like this!" Sam held up his left hand and twisted his pointer and middle finger so they were crossed. "So do you got one?"

Ruby blinked and then turned her gaze towards Sam's cellphone he was gleefully fiddling with. It wasn't the one she gave him a few months ago. The one she gave him had been a sleek silver Razor flip phone meant for calls between them only. Ruby wondered where it was. Ruby wondered a lot of things. Specifically, she wondered what the HELL was going on!

"Sam." Ruby said softly and put her hand over Sam's to halt the beeping of the buttons stop from his cellphone. He stopped and looked over at her with befuddling concern.

"Yeah, Ruby?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Shoot." He closed his phone and slipped it into his back pocket.

"How old are you?"

"Uh…" Sam stammered and gulped nervously. Crap! She was catching on!

"Because you said something about being thirteen years old."

Sam cringed but quickly wiped that look away and then opened his mouth to speak. He then snapped it shut quickly. He gulped and coughed a little then opened his mouth once more.

"Well, I'm really twenty five." He boomed in an exaggerated low and gravelly voice like he was unaware that his voice was already deep.

"Sam." Ruby smiled with extra fake sweetness. "You can trust me, you know. I'm one of the good guys. I kn-"

"Like hell you are, skank!" A bellow came from a few feet away. Ruby and Sam looked up at the approaching but heavily limping figure. A bruised and battered Dean Winchester stood shakily on bare feet with a firm grip on his IV pole for support. Ruby observed the slight contortions and wrinkles of his beaten yet still handsome mug. He was pissed. So pissed and so doped up on pain killers that he escaped the chance of resting and receiving princess treatment to venture to the crowded waiting room to tell his brother to get away from her in nothing save it but a flimsy hospital gown. People were beginning to stare and point. A little girl with little pink bows securing her blonde pigtails screamed and shielded her eyes. Another girl about the age of seventeen giggled and blushed and pulled out her cell phone, stretching her arm to aim the device at the lower part of his back.

"Dean!" Sam shot up. "Are you okay? I was so scared, Dean! Who were those guys that attacked us? Oh, and this is Ruby." He gestured to smirking girl seated next to him. "She saved us."

"Get away from her, Sammy!" He growled which caused him to sway uneasily. He gripped the IV pole tighter to stabilize himself. "She's evil!"

Sam frowned and cast his eyes down at a glaring Ruby who was still sitting down. She crossed her arms and huffed. She then slowly stood to her feet, put her hands on her hips and hissed, "See if I ever save you again, you ungracious, inappropriately touched by an angel reject."

"Bitch! Don't do me any favors!" Dean seethed then coughed juicily. Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Dean, you don't look so good. Are you supposed to be out of bed? You should go back to your room and get some rest. You get really mean when you are tired and hurt."

"Yeah, Dean, you get really _mean_ when you are tired and _hurt_." Ruby said in voice of pure saccharine, making sure to put extra emphasis on the words mean and hurt.

Red crept over Dean's face. His mouth flew open to exclaim profanities and insults but was interrupted by Sam.

"Wait! I feel like I'm missing something here." Sam held up his hands: one in front of Ruby and the other in front of Dean. "You two know each other?"

"Dean, I know we have had our differences. Me being nothing but an honest ally and an excellent babysitter, and you being nothing but a…" Ruby's eyes widened comically. "A big ole' meanie! But can I just ask one thing?" She held up her pointer finger. "What the hell is wrong with your brother?"

"Nothing is wrong with him!" Dean snapped. "Everything is fine. Now if you would just go on your merry little hellish way…"

"He doesn't remember me!" Ruby screeched. This time red crept across her features and more people were staring, thoroughly entertained by scene the three loonies were making.

"I wish I didn't remember you! You are the biggest who-"

"Dean!" Sam gasped and put a hand over his older brother's mouth in horror. "I can't believe you were going to say that to a girl. If Dad were here…"

Dean saw a glimmer in Ruby's eye at the mention of their Dad. Before he could shut Sam up and strangle the demon, her mouth was already on it.

"Yeah, Dean. If your Dad was here." Ruby shook her head and tsk-ed.

Dean bit his tonged and turned towards his oblivious little brother. "She is no girl, Sam! She is a d-"

"Mr. Perry!" A feminine shout came from behind Dean and all three of them turned to face the owner of the shout. It came from a tiny little blonde in green scrubs. Both hands were balled up and resting on her hips. "What are you doing out of bed? Are you trying to give yourself and me a heart attack? And…oh for crying out loud! You are flashing everyone in here!"

The nurse's words must have lifted some of the drugged haze Dean still had coursing through his mind, for his mouth dropped open and his eyes wandered the waiting room. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red every second while taking in every occupant of the populated area. When his eyes zeroed on the jail bate with the camera phone, Dean wished Ruby would knock him out so he wouldn't have to face anymore humiliation.

While Dean was fiddling with the back of his hospital gown to in a pathetic attempt of decency, the nurse marched up to Dean and grabbed him by the ear much like a scolding mother to her rambunctious child. Sam and Ruby half expected her to flip him over her knee and wail on his exposed behind. Instead, she dragged him out of the room and down the hall.

Once Dean was fully out of their eye's view, Sam turned to Ruby. "I apologize for my brother's behavior. He can get really rude."

"I know, Sam." Ruby nodded and chose her words carefully for what she was going to say next. "We know each other, but…" she paused for the sake of drama, "you don't remember me at all do you?"

Sam furrowed his brow and frowned like he was searching through his filing cabinet of memories. He shook his head due to negative feedback.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I wish I did. Somethings has happened to my memory. How do we know each other?"

Ruby sighed. She'd have to lie again and regain Sam's trust…again! Back to the bottom of the totem pole. "I'm a hunter, Sam. Like you and your brother…and your dad."

"Wow! I didn't know girls could hunt!"

Ruby's cautious smile slid off of her face and morphed it into a snarl. "Listen, you little-"

A melodic tune from some nameless rock band drifted from Sam's derriere region. He tried to crane his head and look down with confusion wrinkling his face. Ruby stood there for a moment, tapping her foot and waiting for Sam to answer. Instead, he just kept trying to stare at his pocket with awe. Ruby huffed and threw her hands up into the air in exasperation.

"Are you going to answer it?"

"Answer what?" Sam shrugged and went back to staring at his rhythmic pocket. Ruby threw her hands up in the air once more and growled. She circled her arm around Sam's form and then shoved her hand into his back pocket earning a pitiful yelp from Sam. Before he could grab her hand to yank it out of his pocket, it was already out and holding his cell phone to her ear.

"Hey, that's mine!" He whined and tried to get it back from her. She shoved him lightly, telling him with her body language to back off.

"Bobby?"

"Who the hell is this?"

"It's Ruby"

"Why do ya have Sam's phone? Where are those boys? I swear if ya di-"

"He wants to talk to you." Ruby handed the phone over to Sam. He took it and placed the device by his ear.

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Boy, what the hell is going on? Why aren't you boys here? Why isn't that brother of yours answering his damned phone? And why is Ruby there?"

"We're at the hospital. We were attacked and uh…Dean is in pretty rough shape. I think he will be okay, though."

"You think?"

"Uh…Yeah. I saw him. He seemed…normal. A little purple and blue and-"

"What attacked ya?"

"Well, I'm not pos-"

Ruby grabbed the phone from Sam and placed it by her own ear once more.

"Just get here. We'll deal with this drama later. We are at the St. Andrus Hospital. It's like an hour from your place." Ruby huffed and hung up the phone before Bobby could get another word in. She flipped the phone shut and handed it to Sam. He pocketed it and gave her an expectant look. She shrugged.

"I'm guessing he's on his way." She said without an ounce of care. "Anyway, I'm outie. Sees ya later, Sam."

"Wait!" Sam exclaimed and reached for her shoulder. She sidestepped it with ease. "You can't just leave me here alone."

"Sure I can." She scoffed and rolled her eyes in annoyance. "You're a big boy, Sam. You can take care of yourself." She patted him encouragingly on his arm. "'Sides, Dean'll lay eggs if he sees me again."

Sam snorted lightly at the image. "I'm not sure why he doesn't like you. You seem like a really great girl."

Unable to control herself, Ruby tilted her head back and cackled. "You!" She pointed at Sam between heavy wheezes. "Are hilarious like this." Wheeze! "Whatever 'this' is." She gestured to all of him. "Do you want to know what's better than that, though?"

Before Sam could comment on behalf of his mental state and answer Ruby's question, she swatted her hand tiredly in his direction.

"Nah. Never mind." Ruby grabbed her coat that was draped over her chair and slipped it on. "Anyways, I'm a goner."

Sam watched her leave and then sat down on his chair trying not to fidget. He hated hospitals.

As Ruby exited the hospital, she thought, the thing that is better than Sam being this hilarious is that he actually believes she's a great girl. And because of this, number four and number and five had been reinstated on her list of reasons of seducing Samuel John Winchester.

Author's Note: I apologise to my audience for any grammatical errors I have missed from this chapter, previous chapters, and future chapters.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I regret to say that this chapter and possiblY the next chapter are building chapters; however, I hope that my readers will enjoy them anyway. They involve a well beloved character and the thought processes and views he has gathered by perceiving his human surroundings. I will also reintroduce another character from an earlier section of my story. Not Ruby. *Pauses for applause and whistles of approval* And I also want to apologize because of the short length of this chapter in comparison to the previous chapters I have posted. Now without further hesitation on my part, I present to you…CHAPTER 10!

Castiel, the angel of the Lord, was becoming accustomed to Dean Winchester's glares. He felt proud to say that he no longer felt uneasiness stir within James Novak's form whenever his subject scrunched up his face and hardened his eyes.

It was a pity when his subject contracted the muscles of his facial features and lost the light within his eyes, Castiel mused.

Castiel knew little of human beauty. When feeling the prompt to receive revelation, he would seek a place of tranquility and peace. Often, he would be lead to, what American humans called a playground. The squeals of delight from the children and the story swapping of observant mothers calmed him ironically. The first time he perched on a park bench to gaze at the little humans dangling dangerously off monkey bars, gleefully playing in the sand purposefully getting themselves dirty, and swinging worrisomely high on the swings, he heard Jimmy say in a calm and content sigh.

_Beautiful._

Castiel wondered if his Father would have thought the same thing. However, he had a difficult time grasping the idea that these humans were glorious. Many of his siblings thought lowly of them. Mud monkeys. Hairless apes. Glorified chimpanzees. The list was endless.

Castiel did not think these things about the human race. Nevertheless, he did not think good things either, Castiel admitted. But it was hardly deniable that humans were the most troubling species his Father had ever created. Fascinating, yes, but he could hardly see the beauty in them.

Jimmy Novak would pipe up his opinion at other things, too. He was trying to inwardly teach Castiel the concept of human characteristics, physical beauty being one of them.

Jimmy had told Castiel with humorous tone that many would consider the Winchester Brothers physically blessed by God himself. Needless to say, Castiel did not get the joke and has yet to get the joke. Jimmy then attempted to clarify to Castiel what he actually meant.

_This world, as you may know, is full of narcissism and idolism of beautiful people. When an individual is aesthetically pleasing to the eye, much attention is given to that person. That person is placed up on a pedestal and people flock towards that person with envy, lust, respect, hatred._ Jimmy mentioned several examples: magazines, television, movies, music.

When Castiel had a little time of leisure, he took that opportunity to learn about Earth from Jimmy. One time, Castiel had chosen to spend his free moments merely walking on a crowded sidewalk listening to other peoples' thoughts, music, and phone calls: learning their fears, wants, desires, dislikes, passions.

Jimmy asked him to stop and told him to wander inside a grocery store. Castiel had been hesitant at first, but Jimmy told him he needed to be shown something.

Jimmy directed Castiel towards what he called a stand. Castiel eyed the glossy paper warily and internally asked why he needed to be shown this.

Look, Jimmy said firmly, _look at the covers of the magazines. All of those people are considered beautiful. Many of them have professions because they are physically appealing._

Castiel scrutinized the word Vogue and the scantily clad woman below.

_She is beautiful_, Jimmy stated simply.

Castiel had seen beauty before. His brothers' and sisters' beauty and graces were astonishing and radiant. He studied the woman's form intently and with much ease for much of her skin was exposed. He then turned his attention to her face.

'Without a doubt, James Novak, I have seen more beautiful creatures than this half nude human girl.'

Jimmy sighed. _You are not getting the point, Castiel. That right there is human beauty. Yes, I agree there are prettier and classier women than her, but she is respected. She is beautiful. She is well on her way to becoming a goddess._

'Impossible!'

_Figuratively, Castiel, figuratively. She is famous because she is beautiful. People pay her money because she is beautiful._

'Harlot?'

Jimmy ignored his insinuation.

_Sure, she can act with the best of them._

'I do not understand. Act like what? A harlot?'

Jimmy ignored him again.

_But it is unlikely that she would be where she is now if she were ugly._

Castiel quieted for a brief moment before asking Jimmy.

'As she grows older with time, will she continue to stay as beautiful as you say she is?'

Castiel could feel a hesitance from Jimmy before he spoke.

_I doubt it._

'Will she be continued paid for her beauty? Or her…acting?'

_Unlikely._

'Perhaps, I am beginning to understand.'

_No. You are beginning to understand how the world works. You still do not know human beauty._

'James, I appreciate your attempt to lesson me on the concept of physical attractiveness of the human species; however, this has little to do with the greater purpose at hand. Seals are breaking. Lucifer's rising is frighteningly near, and the army of the Almighty God is decreasing in number. Angels, my siblings, are dying. I also fear many of those that still possess life are turning against God's will.'

Castiel bowed his head and cast his host's eyes onto the filthy linoleum of the grocery store. 'I am ashamed to have such thoughts. To doubt the loyalty of my brethren and sisters,' Castiel expressed sorrowfully to Jimmy.

Silence.

Silence.

'James?'

_I'm bored._


	11. Chapter 11

Jimmy Novak had been of little help that day when Castiel had tried to understand human beauty. Despite Castiel's epic failure of the notion, he still tried and thought himself making slow improvement. The girl on the cover of the magazine was attractive he supposed. Her eyes were wide with partial slant to accent them. Her lips were confusingly full causing her nose to appear miniscule in comparison. Regardless, Castiel figured out her beauty.

He also figured out that others besides the woman on the magazine cover were indeed attractive but in different ways. While receiving revelation in a park not that long ago, he noticed one of the observant mother's. Castiel had found it hard not to notice her, for she was due to conclude her third trimester that evening.

The woman had curly brown hair and focused brown eyes with freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. Not once did those eyes leave the rambunctious five year old boy running around on the snow covered grass with a ball as big as he was. Her face was pleasant and her parent's had named her Theresa Harper 29 years prior. She now was called Theresa Jackson and was having difficulty sitting on the hard wooden bench due to her pregnant condition.

Castiel could sense the unborn child's restlessness in her mother's womb. The child was growing strong and the woman's reproductive organ was tiring from nine months of carriage. It was affecting Theresa. Castiel could see weariness in the woman. He tilted his head up to gaze at clouded sky but knew the sun which rested just shy of high noon. She would begin to feel her reproductive organ contracting a little bit after one o' clock. Glistening dew had formed at Mrs. Jackson's pores near her hairline despite the coolness of the wintery air, and her breathing was considerably harsh. Oddly, though, the child's health and strength was not the only thing causing Mrs. Jackson stress. Her husband had been sent to Iraq nine or so months ago, and she prayed he never return.

Castiel had furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. Absurd and murderous were her prayers. He delved further inter thoughts, collecting the highlights of the past ten years.

Physical abuse.

Verbal abuse.

Rape.

Castiel's gaze shifted towards the large bump of the woman's figure. Regardless of how her unborn daughter had conceived, Theresa still felt the basic motherly bonds to her child.

Castiel let out a breath he realized he was holding. Theresa also felt anger. Hatred. Rage that startled him. Protectiveness that fascinated him.

When his Father had created mankind, he called them beautiful. Given, the creation of humans had been before his own creation, he was fully aware of the story. Adam had been created to be strong, hardworking, and vigilant in husbandry and fatherhood. But Eve, the story of woman, was quite different. God had created woman with a sense of animalism that no amount of masculinity could ever achieve. They were stronger and more viscous if berated enough. And like an animal, if she caught scent of her offspring in danger, she would attack like a mother bear in defense of her cub. If that attacker be her mate, then so be it.

Theresa Harper was planning, Castiel gathered. Her husband would be arriving home in a matter of weeks before he would be sent back to fulfill his duty to his country. He would arrive home and no sooner he would threaten harm upon her and her son and her newborn. She'd wait until he'd hit her. The blow would force her to floor and she'd lay in faux state weakness while he stalked towards her son's bedroom with malicious intent. With his back turned towards her, leaving himself open in a vulnerable state, Theresa would then come up behind him and…

"Cas?" Dean questioned gravelly from his hospital bed, eying the angel who pulled him from Hell. "You're thinking too much."

A sigh escaped Castiel's lips. "I was contemplating the concept of human beauty and its diverse levels of integrity. I was also thinking of the peculiarities of the creation of women and their instinctual resemblances to carnivorous animals."

Silence.

Silence.

"Riiiight." Dean shot Castiel a look but was dodged by the angel's oblivious state of mind. "I do that sometimes, too. Um…Cas?"

"You should not contort your facial muscles into a scowl, Dean. Surely, it is not beneficial towards your human beauty."

Pause.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Why are you here? We didn't necessarily part on good terms." Dean pointed out, his thoughts resting heavy on cute redheaded Angel Anna.

Dean tried to stomp down on his brooding thoughts of what went down only weeks ago. More specifically, the thoughts of Anna.

Dean didn't love Anna Milton, fallen Angel of the Lord and former superior of Castiel and Uriel. She was pretty and nice and a little frisky for a religious chick which had made Dean Winchester's brain wander down south rather than remain in his bodily hemisphere. Dean dug that, and he dug a lot of other things about her, too. Well…parts of her. He didn't dig being second best.

When Dean chose to bed a woman, without fail, her focus was always on him. Dean liked it that way. Wanted it that way. It should damn well be that way! With Anna, his sex-confidence plummeted. At first, everything was cool and WHEW! She was a bendable piece cuite pie, so he let her touch that place right below his shoulder. Expectedly, her hand did not dwell there for long and had ventured to other places during their last few moments together.

But then her hand slid its way back to that spot. Dean let it slide. He figured it wasn't that big of deal. Her hand soon found somewhere else to dwell.

Then she touched it again.

And again.

And again.

Then SMACKKKKK!

There the hands stayed, sweaty and forceful and bruising. Her grip deathly and eyes squeezed shut, like she was juicing a lemon with her eyelids.

Ever the slow and cocksure one, Dean first thought of it as her womanly slash angel way of claiming her property. To hell with Cas's mark of heroism, Dean was hers. A few days later, Dean let that make-believe fantasy go.

Dean E. Winchester was not the object of Anna's affection.

Castiel was.

Snort!

What a joke!

Dean shot a dirty, pouty glare at Cas, who was eyeing his surroundings with an expression of shock and bemusement as though he had just become aware of where he was.

"No, Dean. The question is why you are here." Castiel shot Dean's IV and tubes a withering look of mistrust and disdain.

"Ummm…I got hurt." Dean's pointed to his swollen, rainbow colored 'duh look' face.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Anna's secret crush! Yes, the guy in the tan trench coat with a false sense of wisdom.

"What hurt you, Dean?"

"Demons."

"Oh. It is good that you got away."

Snort! Dean rolled his good eye at his guardian angel. "No thanks to you, Wingman."

Castiel stuck his chin out defensively. "I was rather preoccupied at that particular moment and was unable to intervene."

Dean quirked a brow. "Preoccupied doing what?"

"Another seal has broken, Dean." Castiel informed truthfully. However, that event had occurred closer to midnight. Afterwards, he took flight to the nearest occupied park to watch and calm his vessels nerves as well as his grace. It was there where he had watched Mrs. Jackson and her son.

Standing close to the window, Castiel gazed out the glass and saw the sun trying to split open the stormy gray clouds hoping to radiate its usual afternoon glory. The corners of his mouth turned down. The park was only a few short block away from the hospital. Unless Mrs. Jackson had a midwife or another medical deliverer elsewhere to assist in the birth of her unborn daughter, she must've been in the proximity.

"That's awful, but…I have other worries." Dean grimaced as he felt a sharp pain pulsate through his skull. He blinked a couple of times and rubbed the tender spot on his head with his good hand.

"What is more dire than seals breaking, Dean?" Castiel asked, but Dean could see that the angel was distracted by something. He was still looking outside. A sigh escaped Dean's lips.

"Don't suppose you can heal me in a jiffy could you. Sammy and I need to hit the road. We gotta go to Bobby's."

"He is very useful." Castiel stated and tuned his head away from the window to stare at Dean blankly. "Bobby."

Dean's thumb pressed down onto the button his doctor told him about and swallowed, letting the new shot of morphine flood into his bloodstream and allowing it to numb the throbbing pain in his arm and sides. He knew he shouldn't. He had to leave soon. Get Sammy and shoot for the sunset before too soon.

Sammy!

Dean's breath fell short. He shot a wild look at the heavy wooden door sealing him away from the hallway and away from Sammy- his 25 year old brother who thought he was thirteen.

Dammit!

Dean bit his tongue. He and his brother needed to get the hell out of here and fix this chaotic episode of 'Sam n' Dean's' Apocolyptic Adventures.

Like now!


	12. Chapter 12

_"He is very useful." Castiel stated and tuned his head away from the window to stare at Dean blankly. "Bobby."_

_Dean's thumb pressed down onto the button his doctor told him about and swallowed, letting the new shot of morphine flood into his bloodstream and allowing it to numb the throbbing pain in his arm and sides. He knew he shouldn't. He had to leave soon. Get Sammy and shoot for the sunset before too soon._

_Sammy!_

Dean had not forgotten about his 25 year old brother who thought he was thirteen, but what could he do? He tried sneaking out, and that went oh so well. Blood rushed into his cheeks at the embarrassment. Damn. There had been kids there. And a cute little piece of jail bate who knew her way around the special features of a cellphone. Even worse, though, is that skank of a demon had been there to see him in all his beat up glory and knew about Sam's condition. So the hell what if that bitch saved him and his brother? She was obviously after her own endgame. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it wasn't just about killing Lilith. Yeah, sure. So the bitch saved the geek and could play one pervy twisted babysitter? Fine. But inside Dean's gut, unsettling sloshy stuff, churned whenever he saw her.

Dammit, Sammy! Why can't you see that she's leading you in some major jumbo-fied shit?

Then Dean remembered.

He remembered what Sam had asked him a couple of weeks ago when they both had a little too much whiskey.

"_Hey, D'n?" Sam called out loosely to his swaying brother who sat limply at the motel room table. "Can I athk you a queth- uh…a queth…*ahem* a quuuueeeeeeethhhhchunnn?"_

"_No." Dean's eyelids lowered, hooding his orbs tiredly. Though the lights of the motel room were dimmed, everything appeared so bright. He brought the bottle of golden liquid to his lips and stole a swig._

"_Pleathe." Sam whined and sat his own bottle on the night stand and forced himself up into a sitting position. He had been lying on the bed, beaten and bruised from the hunt they finished merely hours before. Both boys were using the alcohol for 'medicinal purposes'. "It's important."_

"_Nuh." Dean half-heartedly shook his head from side to side._

"_I'm going to athk anyway."_

"_Athk B'bby." Dean lolled out, closing his eye, his top and bottom lashes tickling the spattered freckles atop of his cheekbones. The muscles in his neck and the top curve of his spine was beginning to give from exhaustion and alcohol, for gravity had looped an invisible string around Dean's head pulling it down and backwards._

_Sam grabbed his bottle from the nightstand and brought it to his lips, downing another gulp of the burning liquid. "He won't underthand D'n."_

_"Guh," was the only sound Dean could make._

_"Do ya think Ruby ith better wi' b'nette hair than b'nde?"_

_"Guh," was the only sound Dean could make._

_"I think I l'k…" Sam yawned and sat down his bottle of booze and rubbed his eyes with his gigantic fists. "bwn hair better than b'nde."_

_Sam lightly snickered with heavy drunken undertones. "I hate her, D'n." Sam whispered goofily like it was a secret, and Dean could almost hear a soft slithering motion, material brushing up against material. Sam must have waved his white flag and let the whiskey do its job causing his brother to cuddle into the fetal position like a baby that he was and drool. "But she's pretty." Sam managed to hum and garble out before his light snore filled the room._

_"Guh."_

_The next morning had been filled with migraines and praises to the porcelain god. It had not been until that afternoon when they hit the the road towards their next hunt, when Dean remembered what Sam had said the night before._

_"But she's pretty."_

Dean snarled at the hazy memory. That's how she got under Sam's skin. Using that untamable, long brown hair and sly almond shaped brown eyes. Plus, she wore those tight jeans and snug tops accentuating Coma Girl's girly assets.

Odd to admit, but he and Sammy had a type. Sure, they would tread off into foreign territory and make lovey dovey googley eyes at the females who were associated with the lighter haired community every now and then, but the Winchester boys dug the itty bitty feisty dark hair beauties.

Ruby must've had to search the globe to find a smokin' hot, vacant piece of ass to plop her inky black putrid self into. Dean had seen her true face before. If Sam could only just catch a glimpse of what his slutty girlfriend really looked like, he'd realize she was nothing more than a demonic whore in flawless sheep's clothing.

That's right! He said it!

W-H-O-R-E

What does that spell?

WHO-

"Dean." Castiel's eyes widened and tilted his head to the side. "What is troubling your thoughts?"

Dean let his head fall back against the scratchy pillow with grumbling sigh. "Nothin'. Just…it's been a weird day."

'_Talk to him, Castiel.'_ The angel heard his vessel's voice from within. '_Console him. He's obviously troubled.'_

'I am unaware of what to say to him.'

_Repeat what I say. Can you do that?_

'Of course I can. Despite my superiors' claims, I am not incompetent.'

_Riiiiight_.

Dean watched Castiel slowly walk towards his hospital bed to sit down in the chair next to it.

"Please, Dean, tell me what is troubling you. I'd rather ask because you dislike my ability to hear thoughts. I will restrain from doing this, but I do want to console y-"

"Cas!" Dean snapped and let out a ragged tired breath. "There is something you need to know." He scrunched up his face and waved his working hand in the air saying, "I don't. Do. Chick flick moments. And I sure as hell don't do consolidation."

Silence bounced off the wall for a fleeting hesitant moment before Castiel cast his eyes down to the depressingly white tiles of the floor. He then whispered, "You are my subject, Dean. Despite your short temper, ill-mannered tantrums, and your willingness to disobey heaven's orders, I am to reside as a guardian and protector over you, thus, ensuring that you have enough stability to fight in the Apocalypse as an earthly warrior of God. If your thoughts are troubling enough, they will affect your ability on the battle grounds. I have heard that talking with others soothes the inner turmoil your kind tends to build up."

Dean's eyes left Cas and threw them at the closed door. His thoughts were in the waiting room. How long had Sam been waiting out there? What time did they even get there? What time was it now?

"Your thoughts are with Samuel. I assume he is in the waiting area."

"Don't read my mind."

"I apologize." Castiel tilted his head downward, expressing contrition for his actions. "I do wish you would tell me what is conflicting your thoughts."

Sam studied his scruffy boots. They were BIG boots. Size fourteen boots. Sam rotated his outstretched legs inwards, so his boots knocked together.

_Thump, thump!_

How did his feet get so big? How did HE get so BIG?

Sam chewed on his bottom lip in deep thought. He obviously continued to eat his vegetables unlike Dean. Perhaps, in the years that he's missed, he favored Wheaties more than Lucky Charms.

Hmmm, Lucky Charms. Sam's belly groaned at the thought. Sam hunched over in the uncomfortable hospital chair so his ear could be closer to his stomach.

Impossible, he thought to his tummy. I just ate a few hours ago.

Sam encircled an arm around his middle in attempt to silence the loud hunger pains.

"Is everything alright, young man?"

Sam turned his head towards the stern voice. That voice belonged to a full figured black woman in a pair of pink scrubs with mistletoe and bells imprinted on the material and wore motherly concern etched on her face.

Sam raised his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. "I'm hungry." He mumbled with his chin tucked protectively into his chest. "And no one will let me see my big brother."

"You poor dear." The woman put a hand to her chest and then reached to pat him gently on his mop of hair. "Is there anything I can get you before I tell your brother's brainless doctor to hurry up his white little behind?"

"I'll be okay, ma'am." Sam said in attempt to sound like his age. "Thank you for your concern, but-"

"Boy!" The woman snapped and planted her hands onto her round hips. "Now don't you go on lying to me! I will turn you over my knee and swat that, not a doubt in my mind, cute tush you're sittin' on." The nurse's hand returned to Sam's head and began to pet his strands affectionately. "Now tell Nurse Gina what she can do to make that frown turn upside down, Mr..."

"Sam and I like Lucky Charms." Sam shrugged and unknowingly tossed her his patented puppy face.

"Do you now." Nurse Gina raised her brows with amusement. "Well, I will just have to go down to the cafeteria and see what they have. You stay right here, and I will go get some Lucky Charms for you, Sam."

Sam dimpled at Nurse Gina and in return, her fingers clamped onto his cheek. "Well, aren't you just the cutest thing since baby bouncers."

Sam watched her waddle off towards the cafeteria and frowned. Why did that woman treat him like he was five? Why did everyone treat him like he was five? He didn't look five yesterday when he was twelve and he sure as hell didn't look five now at 25. He crossed his arms and slumped into his chair and glanced forlornly down the hallway for what had to have been the hundredth time.

Sigh! This hospital's hospitality was lame.

Ding, chimed the elevator.

"AAAAHHHHHH!"

Sam straitened in his chair abruptly at the sound of the screaming coming from an opening elevator. A bustling herd of nurses surrounded a travelling wheel chair, all talking frantically while the occupant of said wheel chair screeched; her cries flung towards the walls and echoed the room chillingly. A gulp came from Sam.

"GET IT OUUUUUUUT!" Sob! "GET IT OUT OF ME, DAMMIT!" Choke! "IT HURRRRRTS!"

"We are almost there, Mrs. Jacks-" a nurse attempted to soothe her wailing patient. Sam cringed and scrambled in his chair to sit as close to the wall behind him as possible in fear.

"Don't call me that!"

Sam watched as the woman in labor was wheeled of down the hall, the hospital walls providing acoustics. He sighed and relaxed in his chair once the screams of pain silenced and no sound was left accept the bustling busy noises of doctors and nurses.

After ten minutes since the nurse had left to fetch him some Lucky Charms, Sam grew restless and his knee started to bounce. He eyed the hallway where Dean had disappeared wondering if he was okay and where his doctor was.

Top teeth bit bottom lip in thought. He didn't want wait any longer. He knew Uncle Bobby would arrive soon and save the day like he always did, but Sam was impatient. He needed to know that Dean was okay.

Sam climbed to his feet slowly, thinking it would ward of suspicion from any suspicious people, hunched his shoulders in a ridiculous attempt to fade into the walls, and tiptoed down the hall.

He was going to find Dean.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: I would like to apologize to my readers who have had to wait so long for this update. I will also apologize for any grammatical errors. I would also like to verify that I will not give up on this story. I refuse to have this baby reside in the work in progess zone. It deserves better than that, you as readers deserve better than that, and I deserve better than that because I'm slaving away on this thing. So, as a gift for my 'update absence' I present a fairly longish chapter. I hope y'all dig it.

xoxoxo

Robert Singer liked to believe that he grew up to be a decent fellow. Mamma and Pops had made sure of that. His folks had raised him in the humble setting of Sioux Falls, but spoiled him rotten due to being an only child. Regardless of his parents' easy gift giving, Jacob and Eliza instilled their son to be a fine young man. His father, a good and gracious mechanic, taught him all aspects of being a man. His mother, a school teacher, taught all aspects of being a gentleman. While his father taught him about cars, his mother taught him education. They both taught him the Word of God. Bible study daily and church weekly.

Bobby's parents had been good people. God fearing and what not. They inspired him to dream of bigger places outside of Sioux Falls. His mother hoped he'd go on to college, but his graduation from high school had been bittersweet if anything. College acceptance letters littered his childhood bedroom. Excited was an understatement of how he felt going off to college. However, before Bobby could even relish the freedom of departing from high school and blowing out eighteen candles, his number was called.

_Mamma had been distraught at the bus station and Pops gripped his boy's arms and held him at arm's length in order to look him dead in the eye giving him a damn good lecture._

_"Now you better come home, son." Young Bobby nodded to his father, trying not to wince in his father's death grip. "Your mamma…" Jacob clamped his teeth down to prevent his chin from wobbling, so he gritted out the rest. "Now your mamma won't like it very much if you don't."_

_Bobby, unable to think of anything to comfort his father, just nodded in agreement._

"_The only reason your mother puts up with me is because of you, son." His father chuckled and slapped his son on the back affectionately. Bobby smiled and slung his duffles over his shoulders._

_"I hear 'Nam is pretty." Bobby offered quietly before boarding the bus._

Two years later he had returned to that same bus station with the same duffles slung over his hunched shoulders, eyes, bloodshot, and haunted by witnessing too much. Mamma had rushed to him with tears of joy, wrapped her arms around him, and sobbed into his chest, dampening his uniform. He didn't mind. He contemplated burning the damned thing anyway.

It had taken Bobby awhile to get back into the groove of things. Mamma wanted him to go to college and make something of himself, but he'd changed too much. Seeing good men die bloody can do that to a person, he supposed. Instead, he took up working with his old man at the car shop in town. Not much changed in Bobby's two year absence. However, a bakery had opened right next door.

Bobby remembered the little yellow shop like it was yesterday. He remembered walking by it the first time. In the window displayed pies and cakes and all manner of tasty treats. Licking his lips, he let himself be sidetracked by the fluffy whip cream and the glistening chocolate icing. Months had passed since his return from the war and his appetite had yet returned. But standing like a gluttonous idiot in front of the glass, his belly grumbled…loudly.

Bobby widened his eyes and gazed down at his stomach and without a second thought, made a mad dash inside…only to be greeted by the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Robert Jacob Singer gulped at the beauty in front of him. She sported a light pink sundress, obscured by a plane but stained white apron with checkered oven gloved hands holding a piping hot pie. His nostrils flared, swallowing his saliva with an embarrassingly loud gulp.

Cherry!

Bobby could see the some of the precious red goo bubbling out at the seams of the double crusted pie, threatening to drip down onto the girl's oven mitts.

Karen, her name tag read.

Due to be a gentleman and a God-fearing son of God-fearing parents, Bobby had courted Karen with chaste intent…for three weeks. His folks had been surprised to find their somber and depressed son morph into a lovesick puppy within a short time. Even more shocked when he finally introduced Jacob and Eliza to Karen who had been wearing pretty little ring on a pretty little significant finger.

Scandalous it had been for such a Podunk Christian town when the two lovebirds had married in a jiffy. After all, Robert Jacob Singer and Karen Sandra Fielding had met just two months prior. But time had passed and the rumors of premarital baby-making dissolved due to Karen's consistent slim form. Also, Jenny Landers, the preacher's daughter ran, off to Berkley with her hippy boyfriend causing the humble sized Sioux Falls into a frenzy of gossiping old ladies.

Bobby and Karen, like all newly wedded couples, had their ups and downs and sideways turmoil, specifically financial troubles. They were just a couple of kids trying to play house in a rundown one bedroom apartment.

Bittersweet.

Bobby remembered that feeling again after his mother died of a stroke, and his father died of a heart attack only a week later. Of course, the events had been pure bitterness and torture at the time. Sweet, Karen had stuck by him through it all. Even when he told her to leave him alone. Stubbornly, she stuck by him at all times and not once left his side for more than just a few minutes.

A little after their first anniversary, the couple took up house in Bobby's childhood home. The feeling of anxiety filled Bobby's insides when they cleared Eliza and Jacob's memories to make room for his and his young wife's.

Two years later, sitting in the doctor's office next to his sobbing wife, clenched fingers squeezed his plaid sleeved arm with life-dependency, Bobby had tried to be strong for his wife.

Really tried.

Really, really tried.

But he had really wanted kids, too.

Bobby eyed the 6'4 doofus with the ridiculously shaggy head who slowly stood up to his feet. What Bobby thought to be a lame attempt of being sneaky, the idjit tiptoed down the bustling hallway of the hospital in probable pursuit of his equally doofus older brother.

Rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth, for the life of him, Bobby could not remember why he had wanted kids.

When Bobby had first met John Winchester, honest to the Almighty, he liked the gruff guy. John Boy was a damned fine hunter.

But then he met his boys.

_"Ya got kids?" Bobby eyed the seven and three year old like a highly infectious plague, making damned sure to keep his distance from them._

_John sighed with a hint of guilt laced into his features. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but I-"_

_"I'm not a kid!" The freckle-faced seven year old screeched and balled his tiny, slightly chubby fists into balls and planted them at his hips. "I'm practically grown, mister!" The boy scrunched up his features in distaste and puffed out his chest. "Dad! Make him take that back!"_

_"Dean." John said sternly and cast his gaze towards his oldest. "That is no way to talk to an adult. Especially to a first acquaintance. You apologize this instant."_

_The blonde and freckled boy called Dean looked like he sucked a lemon. Folding his tiny defiant plaid covered arms protectively and thrusting his chin out stubbornly. Bobby noticed the youngest Winchester mirror his older brother's actions like he had been wronged, as well._

_"Eeemmthrry."He heard Dean grumble the apology through clenched teeth. Bobby knew little of kids, but he knew when a tyke was lyin', and this mouthy fellow was doing just that._

_"I'm sorry for Dean's attitude. It's something I'm trying to break." John chuckled with fatherly affection with slight parental embarrassment. He ruffled his Dean's blonde buzz cut who playfully swatted John's hand away._

_The littlest one unfolded his arms and toddled over to his father, gently tugging at the leg of his dirty worn jeans. John looked down at the tiny little creature that was closer to the floor than to anything else in that room. Adoration fleeted across the father's face at his youngest boy's outstretched arms. Quickly, John picked him up buried his face in his son's chubby cheek giving him a full whisker-pied kiss provoking giggles, wiggles, and squeals of delight. At the same time, Dean clutched at his father's leg, wrapping his tiny arms around the limb and hugged it fiercely while burying his cherub face into the rough jean material. With a free hand, John lowered his palm to caress the boy's skull with gentle stoking fingers and messaging knuckles._

_"And this is Sammy." John grinned at Bobby with a big smile, and then kissed the little boy's cheek once more. Sammy giggled and wrapped his arms around his father's neck and rested his curly mop of a head on John's shoulder. "Don't let his cuteness and silence fool you. He has a bigger attitude than Dean and I combined."_

_"It's true," muffled Dean, still trying to bury himself into his father's pant leg._

_Slacked jaw, eyes peeled, Bobby Singer was stunned. Who was this guy in his house pretending to be John Screw You Winchester?_

_Bobby had always thought to be a good judge of character; he felt he had the ability sum a person up rather quickly. And well…he'd know John for at least seven months. John Winchester was a damned fine hunter for a rookie. He was stubborn and could be as cold as rusty-rickety pipe in an Arctic blizzard. Most prominently, though, John was a full fledging bastard._

_Bobby had been unaware of John's full story of becoming a hunter. All the ex-marine mentioned was that his wife had been killed by a powerful supernatural entity and that he needed Bobby's assistance to track down the monster. John did NOT say that he had offspring. Bobby didn't picture him the lovey dovey fatherly type, either, and Bobby never thought to ask. He actually believed it obvious the widower was a drifting loner, driving from town to town exploring old houses and digging up graves._

_Bobby scratched at the scruff covering his chin. _'Come to think of it, he probably does…just with his kids in tow.'

_"Well…" John said, not really paying attention to Bobby, but to a squirmy and feisty toddler. "Aren't you going to say anything?"_

_A million words danced around inside Bobby's mouth for a hesitant moment before choking out, "They're…*cough*…adorable?"_

_Bobby had no intention of making that last bit sound a like a question. Luckily, John didn't notice. Dimples, teeth, and crinkled eyes sprung out from sprung out from him with beaming pride._

"_They are, aren't they?" John said and ruffled Dean's head once more and kissed Sammy's cheek again. "So you wouldn't mind if I left them here with you for a couple of days while I go on a…business trip."_

"_NAAAAAAAOOOOOO!" screeched Sammy and kicked his legs profusely and pulling at his father's beard in child fury. "NO WEAVE, DADDY!"_

_As John attempted and failed to soothe his youngest with bounces and promises of presents on his return, Dean stared up at his father with a furrowed brow and quivering bottom lip._

"_Uhhhh..." Bobby began and momentarily removed his ball cap to scratch the back of his head. "I don't think that'd be a good idea, John. This place ain't exactly kid proof."_

"_Please, Bobby!" John pleaded loudly so he could be heard over Sammy's wails of separation anxiety. "It will only be for a couple of days and that's it. I will never ask again. I swear."_

Snort! Never ask again my ass!

Those youngins spent every summer and most holidays at his house until Sam left for college. And dammit! It was hard to look after the bunch. There were times Bobby swore they could've made up for five more kids for the amount of trouble those two got in.

Chuckle! Still get in.

As Bobby quietly followed behind Sam down the hospital hallway, he remembered not all his history with the boys was tongue biting.

_Bobby sat at his desk, engrossed at the text perched beneath his eyes. Ole' Bill Harvelle needed a favor. The man was more than a decent hunter, and Bobby owed him a few favors. Bobby nearly shot out of his skin when he felt a gentle pat on his forearm. His head swung to the person it belong to, ready to give the person an earful of words. He stopped short at the sight of two pairs of wide and serious 'look-at-how-adorable-and-cuddly-I-am' eyes._

_Sam with his prominent bottom lip and sickeningly sweet puppy eyes chewed right through his reputation of being a hardass hunter._

"_We hungwy, Uncle Bobby." Sammy sucked in his bottom lip and chewed on it nervously while Dean solemnly shook his head at his younger brother's declaration. "Will you make uth thume maca-macan-macanonee and cheethe, pwease?"_

_Bobby's mouth had hung open wide like a dubious fly trap. His mind had yet to get passed the 'Uncle Bobby' part of Sam's question._

"_O-o-okay, boys." He stuttered out, and then received an armful Winchester Juniors accompanied with squeals of delight. Sam and Dean held him, and though their embrace was awkward with Bobby still sitting in his chair, not one of the three boys minded at all._

"_Thanks, Uncle Bobby!" Dean beamed up at him with little boy delight._

_As the boys toddled off to do whatever is that little boys do before lunchtime, Bobby felt little pricks in his eyes and tightening in his throat and chest._

_Well, damn it all to hell then if they were going to be that way!_

Enough of following the leader, Bobby sped up his pace and grabbed a fistful of the back of Sam's jacket and pulled back, drawing a startled yelp from the boy. Bobby spun him around to face the one of the three boys that caused him so much grief.

"Boy, what do you think you are doing?" Bobby growled in a whisper as to not place any attention on them.

"Uncle Bobby?" Sam's eyes widened in surprise, and then he dimpled and relaxed his tall form in relief. And before the grumpy old scrapper could growl out another word, long and strong arms enveloped him in a rib crushing, lung smashing embrace.

"I'm so glad you here, Uncle Bobby." Sam whispered while the sides of their heads were in close proximity. Bobby stood still, unmoving. Like an idjit, Bobby had let himself forget about Sam's state of mind. Unsure of what to do, he stood there similar to a mountain while Sam blew into him with his cuddly wind.

"I was so scared, and Dean was bleeding a lot." Sam's voiced hitched. "And that girl saved us. Ruby, she left. Dean doesn't like her very much. And Dean passed out, and we took her to the hospital, and…me and Ruby. And he's down this hallway somewhere I think. In one of these rooms…I guess. I'm not sure which one. And the doctors won't let me see him yet."

Sam lunged himself into Bobby nearly knocking the both of them over. Sam embraced the elder hunter with almost painful ferocity, but all Bobby could do was pat the distraught young man gently on the back in a gesture of comfort. "I think it's time to call my dad now, Uncle Bobby. I know he's busy up in Canada with a hunt and all, but I think he'd like to know what happened to Dean and that he's okay. But I also want to tell him that I love him and miss him and it's okay that he missed my birthday just as long as you know…he doesn't miss anymore."

Bobby's patting hand stopped in mid halt.

Well, shit!


	14. Chapter 14

"Cas, if you are going to hang around like some looney ex-girlfriend, you might as well help me with this problem." Dean pointed out as Cas tilted the left side of his head upwards as if he were listening to something beyond the walls and confines of the hospital room.

"Hush, Dean. I am listening for screams due to labor contractions."

Huh? La- "Labor contractions?" Dean sputtered and scrunched his brows together in dismay.

"Yes." Cas whispered. "When a woman is with child and nearing the end of the third trimester of her pregnancy, her ute-"

"Stop!" Dean bellowed as his hands flew towards the sides of his head to cup his ears. "Stop! Don't say anymore!"

Dean's outburst caused Castiel to tear away from his listening to eye the man in the hospital bed with weariness and…incredulousness.

"You fear the concept of conception and all of its divinity of nature and miracles." Castiel stepped closer to Dean's bed, towering over his charge.

"No!" Dean choked out a little too forcefully, a blush creeping over his bruised and freckled features. "I just don't like hearing about it. And why are you listening for…screams from some poor woman whose kid is about to split her open."

Slitting his eyes at Dean's ignorance on the beauty of motherhood, he spoke with a sense of haughtiness, "I suppose it is none of your concern."

Lips curling in a snarl, Dean snorted a "Damn right it isn't." Then Dean sighed. "So are you going to help me or not, Cas?"

"With Samuel?"

"Yes."

"I will have to see him first, but Dean, I fear under solid assumption there will be little I can do for your younger brother."

"Can't you just wave your hand and-"

"I'm flattered at your faith in my grace's power, Dean, but the human mind is a fragile piece of matter an angel of my hierarchy cannot tamper with. If I, or one of my brothers or sisters in my garrison, have received orders to alter a human's mind, we have to fulfill those orders with such precision and caution. If I chose to attempt to fix your brother's state of mind without orders from my superiors and made the slightest error, it may leave him…damaged."

Dean found an interesting piece of something on his blanket and stared at it with contempt. "Damaged?" He croaked out.

"Yes, Dean. He may become catatonic or have severe mental retardation."

"So this thing that happened to my brother…it's unfixable?"

"I don't know." Castiel admitted with hesitance. "Whoever or whatever did this knew what it was doing. It's powerful, undoubtedly. You can only hope that you find the catalyst."

A shaky hitched sigh escaped Dean while his free hand rubbed at his face tiredly. "What if I can't change him back?" He mumbled in his palm.

"Then you cannot." Castiel pointed out slowly and simply like he was talking to a child.

"What if he's stuck like this forever, Cas?" Dean's exhaustion mixed with the drugs formed a lethal concoction of teary eyes and imbalanced emotions. "He'll die."

"Then it will not be forever, Dean."

Dean wasn't listening. His babbling continued without an ounce of sobriety.

"The demons will hear about him and will come and kill him. And I'll fail, Cas. I'll protect him as long as I can, but I'll fail. I always fail. I couldn't save Dad or Jess or Mom…and Sam! I'll fail him, AGAIN! He'll die again a-a-and then I'll die."

Tears of despair streamed down Dean's hued cheeks. Castiel could feel the depressing emotions radiating off the being below him. While his charge babbled incoherently, he circled the bed so he stood next to Dean's side. Lowering two fingers, he was about to forcefully shove Dean into a sleeping state when- "AAAAAAAHHHHHH! GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT, RIGHT THE HELL NOWWWWW, DAMMITT!" was heard outside of the hospital room.

Upon hearing the screams, a teary-eyed Dean sniffled, cleared his throat, and eyed the hospital door as if the heavy contraption had dissolved into tapioca pudding. When the screams dissipated, he slowly dragged his eyes to Castiel…who was not beside him anymore. Dean tried to push down the feeling of disappointment building up inside his stomach and chest. Geesh! It's not like he liked the dude anyway, and he couldn't help Sam. Cas didn't even like Sam, so who knows if he was lying or not?

Dean was almost positive Cas had not lied to him about reversing Sam's mental state, but so many things were scaring him enough to almost grow ovaries. If an angel couldn't fix his brother, what could? And what if Sam wasn't fixable? What if he stayed this way for the rest of his life? If Sam were to grow older, would his mind mature? Or would he stay thirteen in la-la land until the apocalypse broke the earth?

If Sam's mind were to mature with time, it'd almost be like re-raising his little brother all over again. And Dean was not stupid. He knew if that were the case, raising Sam now would be completely different than twelve years ago. Times were more dangerous at the present than they were in 1996. Both he and Sam had made a lot of enemies. Supernatural and not.

Regardless of what would occur, he knew it would not matter in the long run. He imagined Lilith sticking her nose up in the air and stealing a whiff. She'd know of Sam's condition before anyone could say 'Adinos, bitch!' Her and her posse would attack, and Dean would defend his little brother the best way his father taught him, but like he told Cas, he'd fail. Sam will die, and so will he.

Once again tears blurred Dean Winchester's vision. He blinked and squeezed his eyes shut causing the hot, salty droplets to latch onto gravity and slide down his cheeks. He was alone, so he let himself cry.

Dean's suffer-in-the-dark moment was short lived, however, once-

WHHHHAAAAAM!

Dean jolted in his bed and eyed the now open hospital door. The thing had been kicked open; he was almost positive he saw a boot attached to a leg.

Swallowing his fear of being in a vulnerable state, Dean tensed his muscles and wiped the wetness off of his face, putting himself on high alert and on defense. Despite being as high as a kite and bed bound, he'd give these sons of bitches hell.

Scrunching up his face in preparation for battle, he watched the intruder enter his room.

Or more like…stumble and fall with an echoing _smack _on the cold tile floor?

"Eeep!" Said the face planted intruder.

"Sam?" Dean exclaimed at his floor bound brother and sat up. His little brother whipped his head around and smiled sheepishly at him.

"Dean!" He scampered towards his brother clumsily, much like a puppy running on ice towards his master. "Are you okay? Oh, Dean! I was so worried when you came to see me and Ruby. You were coughing and-"

Sam gripped his brother's hand more to comfort himself than his beaten brother. Dean grimaced at the girly display of affection but decided against stealing his hand back. Sammy obviously needed this more than he did. Or so he told himself.

"I'm fine, Sammy." Dean grunted. "I'm more worried about you. Ruby gone yet?"

"Yeah, she left a little while ago." Sam watched as his brother sighed in relief at the news of Ruby's absence and wondered what the story was. He pushed that thought aside for now and put his full attention back on his big brother.

"But Dean," Sam hesitated and looked at his gigantic boots and briefly wondered how his feet got so big. How did he get so big? "I think it's time that we try to get a hold of Dad. I know you said he's busy with hunting, but he'd want to know what happened to you and that you were hurt really bad. And…Dean why are you looking at me like that?"

Dean's eyes wide and moist. He opened his mouth to spout off some lie when-

"What kind of rodeo clown circus you people runnin' here? If I wanna see my nephew, I sure as hell should get to see him. If his younger brother wants to see him, then he damn well can!"

"Sir, its policy-"

"You shove that policy up your ass. I'm gonna see my boy. If that doctor o' his ever decides to show up, he best be prepared to have words with me."

"Boys!" Dean and Sam jolted at Bobby's sharp tone when he popped his tattered ball-capped head into the hospital room. "Don't get comfortable. I have a feelin' we won't be stayin' long."

Read and Review, if you would like!


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: I'm back! Phew! Finals were nasty, and my vacation was a blast. It is now time to get back to business and finish the story. I reckon it will be done soon but not too soon. A good portion of this chapter and the next will not feature the Winchester Boys, but I hope they are tolerable to read anyways. I would also like to forewarn you. The next chapter will be rated M for icky stuff— gore, not sex. Now on with the story! I apologize for any errors.

"There is no need to be hookin' my baby up to that thing, Bobby!"

"Don't be gettin' testy with me, boy. I have had a rough morning." Bobby growled back while digging through the contents of the large metallic tool box of his tow truck.

Dean stared blankly at his father figure, the shadows of his own rough morning decorating his mug.

"I can drive my owned damned car," Dean huffed and crossed his one good arm over the secured one and stuck his chin out defiantly. The three of them, Bobby, Dean, and Sam were outside of the hospital in the parking lot. The sun was setting behind the thick, dark puffs of clouds, casting a faint yellowish-purple glow in the area.

"You couldn't push around a Barbie car in the condition you are in."

"I'll show you." Dean's one free hand gripped an arm rest of the wheelchair he was currently perched in, attempting to gain leverage and enough momentum to push himself up to his feet. He failed of course, the medicines and painkillers coursing through his veins, weighing his muscles down significantly. Sighing heavily with a faint blush to his cheeks, he sagged into wheelchair, his heart racing miles a minute. "Give me a sec."

"Uh huh. Sure thing. While you are resting your pretty little beat up head, I'm going to get your car ready to go."

Sam shifted nervously from foot to foot, not daring to intervene between Uncle Bobby and his older brother. This was new to him, their arguing. The Dean he remembered would not have dared argue or talk back to Uncle Bobby. Dad would have flipped him over one knee and tanned his hide for being disrespectful to not only an adult, but to a great hunter as well as a close family friend. The funny thing was though, Dad argued with Bobby all the time. Over the phone, in person, and with Sam's help, sometimes email.

"Sam." Bobby said sternly and pointed to his vehicle. "Help your brother into the truck. We will be leaving in a few minutes."

"K." Sam nodded hurriedly. It wasn't every day that he got to help his brother. It was always the other way around. Gripping the handles behind Dean, his big brother spoke,

"I can wheel myself, Sammy." Dean growled and clamped his palm around the top of the wheel beside him, shooting an accusing glare at his younger brother.

"No, Dean. Let me help you. I-I-I want to." Sam ignored Dean's claim, knowing his brother was in rough shape and needed assistance.

Sam watched his brother's grip on the wheel lessen then fold into his lap. Sam was surprised how easy pushing Dean was. He felt the muscles beneath the heavy material of his jacket slightly bulge. Once they approached the truck, Sam stooped down as Dean slightly lifted up. The younger Winchester encircled his arm around his older brother's waist and gingerly helped him into the seat of Bobby's truck. Sam felt his brother's form lean into his own a little more than necessary. Even at the young age of thirteen, Sam knew his tough, vinegar and spitfire older brother was seeking familial comfort. Sam really wished their dad was there. Words of comfort from Dad one of Dean's most coveted things. Dad rarely spoke gently and comforting, so when he did, it was a big deal.

Especially for Dean.

Dean loved love from Dad. From Sam, Dean just liked it as long it wasn't mushy and chick flicky. With Dad, Dean had no shame. If for some reason Dad felt like hugging his oldest boy, Dean wouldn't fight. He would reciprocate tenfold and cling to Dad like a lifeline.

_Yeah. If Dad was here,_ Sam mused.

The drive to Sioux Falls was slow. Bobby gingerly guided his truck on the roads, slush hitting the tires and sleet splatting against the windshield. After all—Bobby looked over at a sleepy-eyed, hunched over Sam and a zonked out Dean leaning against the cold window of the passenger door—he had precious cargo.

The sun moved behind the clouds, gliding its way down towards the west and home was still a ways away. Bobby began to name off some of the supernatural entities that could have done this Sam. He also sent a prayer to whoever was listening that no harm came to the boys. At least until they all figured this damned mess out.

"The Christmas lights are so pretty, Daddy!"

The middle aged man dressed in a rumpled business suit smiled tightly at his well-decorated home, biting his tongue to keep the swell in his chest, nose, and eyes manageable.

"Don't you think they are pretty, Daddy?" His daughter asked, placing herself in front of him, making him look at her, at her wide gray eyes and sallow face.

The man parted his lips and let out a wheeze, licked his lips and spoke, "O-o-of course, Sweetheart. Y-you know I only put them up for y-you."

And he did, too. He remembered when his little Katherine was just a tiny, spunky munchkin with cute little blonde pigtails, pink bows holding them perfectly in place. She was two when she found out what Christmas was. Three when she discovered the lights. They had visited his parents whose entire property was decorated with reds, yellows, blues, silvers, and everything imaginable causing his little pumpkin to jump start into a frenzy of squeals of delight. For the next twenty Christmases, Harold Winslow decorated his house the same way.

But Christmas 2007, he did not put them up. He refused to haul tear shaped lights out of the attic, inflate Mr. and Mrs. Snowman, and set up Santa Clause and his reindeer atop of his roof. His wife tearfully begged him to, blubbering about the 'what ifs'.

_What if she comes home? What if she decides to walk through that door? It's Christmas, what if she wants to see the lights when she comes home. She always loved the lights._

Harold blinked away tears. His baby had come home, but not last Christmas and nothing like the way she used to be.

He blamed himself for what happened on May 18, 2007.

Katherine had just finished unpacking the night before. All of her college gear put away to rest for a few months. She had been eager that morning, shoveling her mother's pancakes hurriedly into her mouth.

"_I am just so excited to see all my friends. I never got to see them over Christmas break, Daddy."_

"_Just don't choke, Pumpkin." Harold smiled at her and set his newspaper down. Katherine was so much more interesting than the unexplainable and fast-moving dark masses of clouds showing up all over the country. It was just some odd weather pattern hopscotching its way across the States, anyway._

"_Bye, Momma! Bye, Daddy!" She grabbed her purse and bolted through the door in her favorite jacket, shirt, and crucifix necklace._

He should've put his foot down and made her stay home that day. He should've persuaded her to remain at home and catch up with her friends over the phone because…she didn't come back.

He and his wife called the police, filed a missing person report, put up pictures, listed rewards for her finding. Nothing. Nothing for a whole year and half.

_Gertrude and Harold were trying to be pleasant with his parents and his siblings and their kids a few weeks prior on Thanksgiving Day. Much like the previous year, they both found the children's laughter and game-playing unfair. There was a knock at the door. Veronica, his sister, had been the one to twist the knob, open the heavy wooden barrier, and let loose mixture between a scream and gasp. Everyone ran-children and the elderly came to the side of their family member to see what she saw at the front door._

_Katherine stood outside of her grandparents' house completely drenched from the sleet, her form completely void of body language, seemingly unbothered that her once golden skin was a sickly pale and her naturally bright red lips were blue. Her clothes were the same as when she left excluding her favorite shirt and necklace._

Once the shock had been resided only slightly, she'd been rushed inside the house. Hot towels, warm blanket, and fresh clothes were being thrown at her from every grandparent, parent, aunt, uncle, and cousin. She sat on the couch, bombarded by all the warm fabric, gaze fixed on all her questioning family members…with a gut-clenching gleam in her eye. Like_ they_ were the Thanksgiving Dinner.

"Let's go inside, Daddy." Katherine said sweetly, bringing her father back to the present. She gripped her fingers in an unbreakable hold, dragging him into the house. "It's getting chilly out here."

Harold bit back the moan when the thing that looked like his daughter clenched her fingers around his bruised and swollen wrist. Katherine had broken it last night. He clearly remembered the look of ecstasy lighting up her face at the wet, slippery sound the bones made when becoming disjoined and then shattered.

As they walked towards the door, he eyed the light yellow sundress she decided to wear that morning and the snowy footprints left by bare feet. Remnants of a crimson stream stained the soft cotton material down the front of the dress. Katherine did not seem to mind at all.

They entered the house, the interior just as cold as the outside. Harold could still see his breath when crossing over the threshold. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He would've much rather stayed outside in the snow all night.

"Daddy." Katherine said with a hint of worry. Harold knew it was for mock appearance. "You don't seem so happy? Why aren't you happy?"

Harold sucked in a breath and opened his eye to face the thing that looked like his precious angel with a look of utter hopelessness. "I-I am h-happy, Sweetie."

"You don't look happy." The thing pointed out and crossed her arms over the blood soaked material covering her chest. "Perhaps you should go see Mommy. She always makes you happy."

His loudly thumping heart dropped into a dark pit in his stomach, and he swallowed. "I'd rather not, honey. You m-make me s-s-so happy."

"No." It shook her head. "I think you should go talk to her. Sit with her awhile. I bet you'd like that."

"I'm o-okay being h-here with you."

"She's right in there." It pointed a pink polished fingernail with dried red crusty gunk underneath into the den area. "Go sit."

"Sweetie, I-"

"GO SIT!" The thing screeched, gray-green eyes turning white. Her small hands wrapped around his tie and yanked. He fell to the ground with a loud _THUD._ With ease, she dragged him across the carpet while Harold twisted and turned to thwart her actions causing the pressure on his windpipe to worsen.

It slid open the den doors as if by her will and tossed him inside.

Harold coughed and wheezed for breath as he gripped the stained carpet for support, keeping his eyes trained on the brown splotches. He did not want to look up.

"How can you talk to Mommy when you are looking down?" He heard the thing ask and then felt strong fingers grip his cheeks and forcefully tilt his head back. There his wife was dressed in her night dress, pinned to the ceiling as if by an invisible force.

"Harold," she whispered through cracked, bloody lips. "Help me."

Tears spilled out of his eyes as he mentally asked God why this was happening to his family. Why did his daughter go missing? Why did she come back? Why couldn't He stop this? They had been a good Christian family. Why?

Harold opened his mouth to give comforting words to his wife when he was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

"I see you still like playing house."

Harold tore his eyes away from his wife and set them on a young woman not much taller than Katherine. Hope bubbled up in his chest. She had long, dark brown hair and wore jeans and a leather jacket. Her eyes were black and she did not wear a snarl very well. His hope faded and knew this girl was not here to rescue his family.

The black eyed girl shifted her head up and down like she was checking out Katherine's form with a look of utter disgust. She spat at her bare feet.

"Have you lost all your sense of originality, Lilith?"


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: This chapter is rated M for icky, nasty gore. My readers are welcome to skip over this part if he or she desires. It's not an entirely important chapter but will eventually tie into later parts of the story. Enjoy. I will try to update again in the next several days with something more Winchester Boys related.

_Harold tore his eyes away from his wife and set them on a young woman not much taller than Katherine. Hope bubbled up in his chest. She had long, dark brown hair and wore jeans and a leather jacket. Her eyes were black and she did not wear a snarl very well. His hope faded and knew this girl was not here to rescue his family._

_The black eyed girl shifted her head up and down, checking out Katherine's form with a look of utter disgust. She spat at her bare feet._

_"Have you lost all your sense of originality, Lilith?"_

Harold sucked in a breath. The thing had a name? He unsure if he should feel relieved or more horrified that this was not really his daughter.

"What can I say, Ruby? It's so…" Lilith smiled and leered down at her form. "grown up and pretty. Are you jealous that you can't joyride in sweet little Katie anymore?"

"Not at all." The girl named Ruby said, scowl still in place. "I get to joyride with Sam. Something I never got to do in that sack of meat your donning."

"Mmmm." Lilith nodded her head in agreement. "And how is young Samuel coming along these days? Angry, vicious, addicted? Tell me."

Harold Winslow was horrified and boggled. There were two monsters in his house that were clearly not their bodies. He wondered about Ruby and the body that was not her own. Did the body have parents? Grandparents? A lover? A husband? Did the monster hiding within kill them all?

"We have a hitch." Ruby folded her arms and rolled her eyes in annoyance much like a teenager would do to her parents.

Lilith flared Katherine's nostrils. "A hitch?"

"Sam's mental state…" Ruby let out a breath of exasperation with an underlying hint of fear. "is not well."

"Then fix him, Ruby! We don't have time to kiss his booboos better!" Lilith yelled and then backhanded the brunette with inhumane force. Instead of crumpling to the floor, Ruby bent her knees to catch herself. Lilith was not her master; therefore, she would not fall to the ground and kneel. She'd save her praises and curtsies for someone else.

"When I was with him, I thought I sensed something powerful. Something old and way beyond my pay grade." Ruby seethed out, wiping away the blood drippings from the corner of her lip. "But if I can get enough time, I can work it to my advantage."

"Time?" Lilith scoffed with an unholy smile which quickly disappeared into lines of fury. "There is no time, Ruby! We have waited long enough with nothing but Azazel's plan to calm us! We have eighteen seals left."

"I know. I'm eager, too. But everything that has been done won't matter without Sam."

Lilith closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, her ear parallel to her shoulder. Juicy pops echoed throughout the room and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Harold pushed his face towards the carpet once more and retched at the sound. When he lifted his head to face the girls, the thing wearing his daughter was gone. The brown haired girl stood alone in the den, looking at the invisible spot where Lilith vacated with uncensored hatred. She sighed and her black eyes faded to a normal brown.

"Please." Harold sputtered without catching himself, self-preservation outweighing fear. "Please help us."

The thing's head snapped in his direction, her eyes obsidian again. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at his wife. She didn't look angry anymore, but she did not look happy either.

"Is that what you'd like? For me to save you?" She whispered and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and slowly stalked towards him.

"Y-yes." He remained on his knees. He'd beg and plea.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" She asked and lowered herself onto her knees, unbothered that the knees of her jeans squished wetly against the bloodied carpet.

"More than anything. I'll do anything. I'll give you whatever you want or need if you can-"

"You have nothing that I want." Her hands cupped the side of his face with light affection; much like his wife would do when trying to comfort him. He pressed into the palm. The black-eyed thing's skin was warm unlike Katherine's. Harold sighed and let his head rest in the welcome warmth. He was so tired. "You can offer me nothing that I need."

"There must be something-"

"There isn't." She whispered and brought her other hand up to his face, so she was cradling his head. Harold let his body sag. The girl was not giving him verbal comfort, but it had been weeks since he'd received comfort by touch.

"Please." Harold fluttered his eyes closed and allowed his tear to shamelessly fall. The girl's caught the salty drops with her fingers. Unlike the monster wearing his daughter, this one did not seem to mind the tears.

"I suppose I could save you." Harold's eyes opened to a non-sympathetic stare. "Break the hold off of your wife and safely guide the both of you out of this neighborhood. But Lilith won't be gone for long, you know. She'll come back and want to play some more. If you're gone, she'll find you, and she'll be angry. I can't offer you protection but merely a way out."

"B-but couldn't you-"

"Or," the girl fell from his face to his shoulder and gripped tightly, not painful but serious. "I could…take away the pain…forever."

Harold's lips quivered and fresh tears sprung from his blood shot eyes. "Wha…"

"It'll be quick." She bobbed her head up and down and patted him on his wet cheek. "I won't dillydally. I promise."

Harold shook his head and fell backwards and crawled a few feet away from her. That thing disguised as his daughter was gone. Even if for temporarily, he would use this window to get his wife down and leave. He'll call the police. Make them understand, believe what had happened. He just needed to go outside and get the latter. But first things first. He approached the cabinet and studied the workmanship. His grandfather had made it out of heavy oak and glass. Balling up his good fist, he smashed the glass door. Fear and paranoia had plagued him from attempting this, but he was not going to be afraid anymore. Gripping the Winchester rifle, he yanked it out and let himself remember what his father and grandfather taught him about shooting.

"She'll find you." Harold heard from behind him, his gliding hands froze. He turned around and faced the girl. She climbed to her feet and rested her hands at her hipbones like she was about to spout off a lecture to a troublesome child.

"No she won't." Harold faced her fully and cocked the gun. Her brows quirked as well as her lips at the sharp, clean sound the rifle made. "And if she does, I'll be ready. I know that's not my daughter anymore. I can shoot her."

The smirk turned into a full blown smile, comical and unsettling. "Oh sweetheart." She shook her head, and her smile faded into a grimace. She took a step forward. "You have no idea what's going on. You need to put that toy down before you hurt yourself."

"Don't come any closer!" He growled at the approaching monster and aimed the rifle at her. "I know how to shoot, and I will if you take one more step!"

"You know how to shoot." She paused and then took another step forward. "But not kill."

_**BBAAAAAAAAAAAAANNG!**_

Harold gasped at the sound, and his legs began to shake, knees bouncing off of each other, gaping at the bloodied fabric and torso of the young girl he shot. The girl was still standing, and her head was bowed. She was eyeing the wound. Her hands flew to cover the expanding red circle on her white tank top she wore underneath her jacket. His fumbling hands dropped the gun, so they could venture up and cover his mouth to muffle his gasps and sobs. What the hell and he'd just done?

"Oh my-" CHOKE! "God Almighty!" GASP! "I'm s-s-s-s-s-"

She lifted her head from her stomach; angry black eyes piercing through his escape plan, the word murder etched in every muscle contort in her snarling face. Blood dripped from the corners of her mouth down her chin. With a quick a forearm, she wiped the streams away and spat a chunk of gut churning, dark red mass to the side. Harold fell to his knees and vomited, dry heaves wracking his body. With a painful yank, he was brought to an erect position on his knees. She was on her knees as well and facing him with her fingers curled around his hair.

"P-please! I b-beg of you. I'm s-s-sorry." He whispered. He gulped as he watched her free hand slowly rise towards his face. Very slowly, like she was playing a game, making guess what she was going to do to him.

She had small hands. Smaller than Katherine's and with skin the color of warm caramel, and Harold briefly wondered how hands that small and flawless could look as threatening as they did. The closer the hand reached its questionable destination; he could see some of the arm it was attached to. The jacket had ridden up and little echoes of nicks and gashes were spattered around her wrist area and lower forearm area.

The tip of her thumb rested on the bridge of Harold's nose while the tips of her pointer and middle digits were tickling his lashes.

_She's going to gouge my eyes out with her bare fingers!_

"Don't move." She gritted between clenched teeth and grasped his hair in a stronger hold, earning quivering lips and shameless tears.

"P-please."

"Shut up!"

Her finger's slightly curled and her thumbnail dug into his nose. With shaky breaths and mental prayers, he watched those fingers spring forward, brush his eyelashes once more, and then fall down to her stomach. Confusion and horror overcame him as he watched those two fingers bury themselves into the hole in her stomach with a loud _squelch_! Falling backwards and hitting his head against his gun cabinet, he watched the girl's fingers twist and twirl, producing a fresh flowing river of blood from her stomach. Nauseating wet noises echoed throughout the room. They were so loud and high pitched, he wondered if his wife could hear them, too. After what seemed like hours, her fingers stilled and then withdrew. Tearing her eyes away from her gored up stomach, she trained them on Harold and crawled up him.

Harold Winslow was going to die that night. He could see his future ending in the black eyes of this girl. He bet if he cared to concentrate hard enough, he could see how she was going to end him. He was lying down with his head propped up against the gun cabinet, and she was crawling over him, blood dripping onto his pants and then shirt. Straddling him, she sat down on his pelvis, wrapped her glistening red hand around his tie and lifted him so they were seeing eye-to-eye.

"Open your mouth!" She hissed. Harold's eyes widened and shook his head. The monster's eyes decreased into black slits, and her nostril's flared. "I said open your mouth." Her other hand, bloody and wet like its mate, pinched his nose, cutting off one of his airway supplies. Harold clamped his mouth shut even though they both knew he would open his mouth eventually.

Lungs swelled painfully and vision swam with black dots, Harold's mouth broke open. Before he could even contemplate of bucking her off or closing his mouth again, _those_ two fingers were in lodged his mouth. His tongue, gag reflexes, and stomach lurched at the coppery yet slightly off taste. But that wasn't the most horrific part. His tongue felt something hard and it tasted of sharp metal.

_It's the bullet!_

The monster's fingers jerked out of Harold's mouth and clamped her hand over his mouth. She could feel his teeth and tongue fighting to spit the thing out.

"Swallow it!" She hissed and clamped her hand around his nose. "Swallow it, and I'll let you breath."

After a moment of struggling, Harold swallowed it and the monster took away her hands from his face. He inhaled deeply and felt sick when everything smelt like blood and rotten eggs. She patted his cheek and spoke, "Now that wasn't so hard was it? Nope. It wasn't. If you hadn't shot me, none of that would have happened. If you would've just agreed. Or hell, I don't know. Told me to leave, so Lilith could come back and kill you. But no." She shook her head solemnly. "You had to make me angry. I like this body, and I like the boy who likes this body, too, and you scarred it really bad." The monster tsked as her hand inched up underneath her pant leg.

"What are you going to do?" Harold whispered but felt regret at his question. For the past three weeks, he had been going through the treacherous five stages of death. Just now, he reached acceptance. He need not know the details of the events before crossing over to the other side. Regardless of knowing his demise, Harold felt that if this creature answered his question, it would still be surprising than if she hadn't.

"I'm going to scar you, Harold." She told him slowly like he needed to understand every word, every syllable out of her mouth. "I'm going to scar you in the same place you scarred me." She held up a dagger close to six inches long and gleamed in the florescent lighting of the den, extenuating its lethality and sharpness. The weapon was not the most horrifying blade either of them has seen, but it would get the job done. "I'm going to cut the bullet out."


	17. Chapter 17

**INDIANA ATHORITIES BAFFLED AT SUBURBIAN MASSACRE: Only Few Survived**

Bobby brought his hot mug of manly, black coffee to his lips and allowed the bitter comfort to wash over his tongue and alert the heart and brain cells to wake the hell up already. He reluctantly placed the cup on the coaster and brought the newspaper closer, breathing in that crisp but dirty scent of black ink and flimsy paper. His eyes absorbed each word carefully underneath the heading of the newspaper article.

"Definitely demons." Bobby whispered to himself ruefully, sympathetic towards the lives lost. He contemplated calling up Rufus and seeing if he would care to check it out and interview survivors. No names had been revealed yet.

"How're the _Funnies_ today?"

Bobby lowered the paper to see a wobbly Dean hobble closer to the dining table. The dining room light brought out the paleness of Dean's skin and the dark splotches from his beatings. The elder man resisted the urge to get up and carry the damned kid back to his little haven on the couch and tuck him in, so the boy would properly rest and heal all those stubborn cracked bones in his body. Instead, Bobby just shrugged.

"Eh. Charlie Brown fell for Lucy's football trick again, Garfield stole Jon's donut, and Dagwood ain't got a clue how hot his wife is."

"Mmm…Blondie." A glazed over look fell across Dean's eyes, and Bobby rolled his.

"It's a wonder how you get anything done, boy. Always thinking with your downstairs brain."

Dean smirked. "That's why I have Sam along. To keep me in line."

His smirk collapsed and his eyes flew to the side.

"Sam!" Dean started but stopped when Bobby held a finger to his lips.

"Be quiet, boy!" He hissed and laid his folded up newspaper on the table. "You'll wake your brother and my pups. And if that happens," Bobby pointed his coffee cup in Dean's direction before taking a swig, "I am going to baby talk you until your ears bleed or my tongue falls off. Whichever one comes first."

Dean scowled and crossed his good arm over his slung one. "I just want to know if Sammy's alright."

"He's fine. He is upstairs in the bedroom with Rumsfeld and Cherry."

"I don't remember even going to sleep last night." Dean admitted and eyed Bobby's coffee lustfully. The steam springing from the black liquid may as well have been wisps of music notes gliding through the air, calling to Dean like a siren to a sailor.

"You didn't. You fell asleep in my car. You and Sam both. When we got here, I woke up Sam and asked him to help me get you into the house. He's eager, that boy." Bobby scratched at his scruff pensively, memories of the evening before floating around in his head. Sam had been hyper and eager to help his brother out of the truck and into the house. Bobby had almost feared Sam would not be gentle with his brother from his youthful excitement coming off of him in UV rays. But the youngest Winchester had been careful and made sure Dean had a lot of blankets and a fluffy pillow or two to cradle his brother on the couch. Sam had even brought the edge of the top blanket up, just a few inches below Dean's chin and then kissed him right below his left bruised eye.

Sam had stumped Bobby. It wasn't to say the youngen was affectionate; he was. Out of all the Winchesters and including himself, Sam was the most sensitive and open with his overload of feelings, much like a teenage girl getting dumped for the first time. The sight had just been odd to see. Almost nostalgic. Sam had not been affectionate with his older brother in a while. Hell, neither of the boys had shown any degree of familial PDA in months. Probably not since they'd seen each other for the first time since Dean's return from Hell.

Dean was shaking his head and scrunching up his face, pulling Bobby out of his musings. "What is it, son?"

"He shouldn't have to help me, Bobby." Dean sniffled and brought his hand to cover his face, shamed of his tears and shamed of everything else of Dean Winchester. "He's thirteen years old, and I'm his big brother. I am the one who is supposed to take care of him. I should've seen those demons coming a-and-"

"If you weren't a pulp already, I'd beat you into one." Bobby slammed his half empty coffee cup onto the table, fluid sloshing and spilling over the edge and onto the newspaper. The sharp sound of the mug hitting against the solid wood of the table jolted Dean out of his rant. "He's not thirteen, Dean. He may act like it, but he's not. We'll fix that. And he's not just your responsibility-"

Dean's mouth flew open at that, tongue ready to lash out.

"You're his responsibility, too. It goes both ways. Just like you both idjits are my responsibilities, and I am yours." Bobby rolled his eyes and cast his eyes towards the ceiling asking the roof 'why?'

Dean swallowed the thick gall of emotions built up by Bobby. Ah hell! Why did he have to go and say something so gah? Dean shrugged off the feelings of family lovey dovey stuff and narrowed his eyes on the elder hunter.

"Let's end this conversation before we both begin to ovulate and discuss the hotness of Ashton Kutcher, okay."

Silence.

"Ashton Kutcher?"

"It was the first name that popped into my head."

"Really? Ashton Kutcher?"

"Just forget it, Bobby."

"_That 70's Show _alone was-"

"Whatever."

"_Punk'd_ had its moments."

"Will you stop?"

"No."

"We need to figure out what did this to Sam."

Bobby sobered up in agreement.

"Well, after your brother ate me out of a house at dinner last night, I asked him a couple of questions. Simple things. Didn't want the boy to get all worried and riled up."

"What'd you ask him?"

_Bobby stared slack jawed at Sam. The scrap dealer was positive the boy had not taken a single breath since the plate of steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and cooked veggies had been put in front of him. When his second plate was clean, Sam set down his fork with a respectful *clink* and asked a question with those trouble causing eyes._

"_Do you have any of that ice cream you get when you know me and Dean are going to be sleeping over for a while?"_

_Bobby frowned. "The slow churned, homemade tri-chocolate chunk ice cream that I used to get down at that dairy mill down the street?"_

_ Sam's head nodded up and down excitedly and smiled, dimples lashing out and taking prisoners. Bobby inwardly groaned. He hadn't bought the stuff in years. He loved the stuff, yes, but it wasn't the same eating the delicious dessert alone than with the boys. All three Winchesters had stopped dropping by regularly once Sam went off to college._

_ "I'm sorry, Sam." Bobby looked guilty and shrugged a little. "I ain't got none right now. But tomorrow for sure, I call up ole' Davis and be sure that he sets a gallon or two aside."_

_ Sam nodded solemnly and covered his stomach with his arm like he was still hungry. "Do you got any Lucky Charms?"_

_ "We'll get that, too."_

_ "Oh. Okay." Sam cast his eyes downward at his empty plate and asked. "Is grown up me hungry all the time?"_

_ "Pardon?" Bobby had taken a bite of his food when Sam spoke._

_ "Is grown up me hungry all the time?"_

_ "Uh…Well…" Bobby did not know. If anything, Dean always complained about how 'little' Sam ate or how healthy. _

_ "Because I'm hungry all the time. It's like I'm full for a second, and then I get hungry again." A funny expression skittered across Sam's boyish face as he patted his stomach._

_ "You're a big boy, Sam. Taller than Dean. Taller than your daddy."_

_ Sam's eyes popped out at Bobby's claim and then shook his head in denial. "Naw. I don't believe that for a second, Uncle Bobby." He giggled. "I know I'm taller than Dean, but no way am I taller than Dad. He's like…Whoa tall."_

_ "It's true. Your daddy, he was about…oh…I'd say 6'2. You are a towering 6'4."_

_ "Wow!" Dimples appeared again followed by a nice set of teeth. "How did I get so big?"_

_ "You ate all your vegetables unlike your brother and dad who convulse at the sight of anything green."_

_ A snicker escaped Sam's lips. "That's true. I remember one time, we were at a restaurant and Dean ordered pasta. When the waitress brought the plate out, he started crying because there was broccoli in it. Usually Dad is all" Sam straightened up and deepened his voice, "be a man and eat your food, soldier. But instead he patted Dean on the back and said 'there, there, son. It's okay. I'll have the nice waitress take it back and we'll get you a nice bacon cheeseburger."_

"I did not cry!" Dean bellowed and shot a venomous death glare above him where Sam slept. "There was a lot of onions in that pasta, so the smell was making my eyes water. That's it."

Bobby chortled. "You're adorable."

GROWL! "I thought you said you asked Sammy some questions."

"I was getting to that, but I was just getting to the fun part first."

_ "So Sam…What do you last remember? Before you woke up this morning, I mean?" Bobby asked with his gentle 'Uncle Bobby' voice reserved for two boys he thought were too old to hear._

_ Sam shrugged and cast down his eyes at his empty plate. "It was the day before my thirteenth birthday."_

_ "And?" Bobby hinted._

_ Another shrug from Sam. Bobby could tell that the young man was either completely uninterested in the interrogation or hiding something. "I don't know. Went to school, came home, had dinner, went to bed."_

_ "Work with me here, Sam." Something bad could be happening, Bobby mentally added._

_ A sigh escaped Sam's lips, and he rested his head on cupped palms, perfectly mimicking a sullen teenager. The mannerisms alone were damned near scaring Bobby half to death. No grown man should be acting this way. Powerful and possibly evil magic was afoot and took advantage of the youngest Winchester…again._

_ "Fine." Sam huffed, still supporting his noggin on his hands. "I woke that morning to Dad and Dean having a snoring contest."_

_ "In which motel?" Bobby asked, grabbing his lucky pen and pocket notebook from the pouch on his plaid shirt._

_ "It was called the…Buckingham Motel."_

_ "And what was the town called?"_

_ An eye roll escaped from Sam and let out another dramatic sigh. "Where we were today. Shallow River."_

_ Bobby's writing hand paused and hovered over his notes at Sam's answer. Biting his tongue, he swallowed the flabbergasted scream. They were circling ground zero the whole time, and Sam never mentioned it? They may have had this mess figured out by now._

_ Bobby wanted to say this but quickly realized staying in Shallow River would have not been the best plan. Those demons were searching for the boys and would have eventually found them. Dean needed a proper place to heal with lots a blankets and authoritative concern._

_ "Was it the same motel that you stayed in when you…went to sleep last night?"_

_ Sam shook his head. "No. That one was a Motel 6."_

_ "Hmmm." Bobby scribbled in his notebook. Probably not motel related. "What did you do when you woke up?"_

_ Sam huffed once more and shrugged. "Showered, got dressed, and went to school?"_

_ Bobby's paused mid-scribble and trained his eyes on Sam. "School?"_

_ "Yeah." Sam nodded curtly and rose to his feet to get up. "Hey, I'm going to check on Dean and-"_

_ "Sit down." Bobby ordered. Sam made that face that Dean called the 'bitch face' and sat down with tight crossed arms._

_ "You're not the boss of me, Uncle Bobby. You're not my dad."_

"That little punk!" Dean spat, milk droplets splattering across the table. Bobby refused to give him coffee, unsure of how an adrenaline shot of espresso would mix with Dean's meds. "I'm going beat his ass into the ground. He can't talk to you that way!"

"Calm down." Bobby soothed and refilled Dean's milk glass. Dean grumbled and took a sip from his glass. "Let me finish."

_"But you are my responsibility." Bobby pointed at Sam with a calloused car-greased finger. "As long as your daddy ain't around, I'm taking care of you, and I'm in charge."_

_ "I would've much rather have gone to Pastor Jim's place," whispered Sam underneath his breath. Bobby pretended not to hear that jab and ignored the ache of the late faithful hunter and the hurt from Sam's words. Bobby remembered Sam's stubbornness and smart mouth the boy developed in his teens and thankfully left the snide remarks at college. The back of the elder hunter's hand was going to collide with a misfit's pouty face soon if things didn't improve._

_ "Well, tough. You're at my place, and John likes me more. Now I get the feelin' you're hidin' something, Sam. What happened at school? What don't you want to tell me?"_

_ Shrug._

_ "Sam. Tell me."_

_ Shrug._

_ "I won't get mad, or think any less of you. Just tell me."_

_ Shrug._

_ Sigh! Bobby retired his ball cap on the table next to his half eaten plate and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he should escort Sam down into the panic room and beat some words out of him._

_ "Did you talk to someone or see someone that may have had to do with…what's happened?"_

_ Sam cast his eyes down to the floor, bit his bottom lip, and shrugged. Bobby had a feeling they were getting somewhere._

_ "Man or woman?" Bobby egged slightly, his pen hovering over his notepad in anticipation._

_ "Woman." Sam swallowed and nodded his head slowly with his vision still on the floor._

_ "Old or young?"_

_ "Old."_

_ "How old?"_

_ Shrug._

_ "Sam!" Bobby bit his tongue to keep from saying something he'd regret. "Please. Just guess."_

_ "Late sixties. Maybe early seventies."_

_ "What did she say to you?"_

_ Sam slouched in his chair, arms still tightly crossed in front of him. He stayed silent._

_ "Sam, please." Bobby begged. "We can't fix this unless you we know what happened."_

_ Sam rolled his eyes and shot accusing glares at Bobby. "That's the thing. I don't want to be fixed."_


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I apologize for any errors and for the delay in updating. With sincere love and devotion to those that have been reading and reviewing, I present chapter 18.

How freaking embarrassing!

Sam Winchester was mortified. Sam Winchester was humiliated. But most of all, Sam Winchester was disgusted. The sheets were STUCK to him!

Sam glared at the plain white sheet stuck to his body. This whole situation was awful, but he was so glad Dean was not in the room with him. He would have cackled with glee and milked Sam's embarrassing state for all it was worth.

A blush crept over Sam's cheeks and tried not think about his dream last night. Yes, he read all about this stuff in the sixth grade with the pamphlet and with Dean's unneeded input and Dad's awkward grumbles. He had yet to actually experience it, though. Once Sam had turned eleven, Dean was always inappropriately checking his younger brother's sheets in the morning, anything to tease him about.

_"It's all about becoming a man, Sammy." Dean smirked and ruffled his little brother's hair. "Plus, I thought it'd be better if I caught you instead of Dad. I wasn't so lucky."_

Sam would grumble a 'gross' and a' thank you' and bat Dean's hand away.

Well, Dean wasn't in the room to check, and Sam really doubted his beaten brother was going to climb up the stairs and barge into the room to check his younger brother's sheets.

With a grimace, Sam bunched the sheets up with his hand and pulled them away from his body. He wished he could say that it was a silence process. Quickly, he undressed the bed; something his brother told him to do when it finally happened. Wadding all the material into a large ball, he placed it carefully by the bed. He would deal with the sheets later; he needed a shower first.

Sam kept his eyes closed when undressing. He still wasn't used to his body. Sure, he thought it was pretty cool that he was so tall and not chubby but looking down at himself was still really…weird? Was that the word? Sam was unsure. He still had troubles going to the bathroom. He kept his eyes closed in the shower, as well, washing himself in record time.

Sam knew this was his body, and there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just completely weird. His thirteen year old body was a round, hairless, ball of boy and overnight, he wasn't anymore. Did he want to go back? Heck no! Sam knew he would eventually get over not wanting to look at his own body. He'd have to. He couldn't be concerned every time he needed to use the bathroom. Plus, Dean needed somebody to take care of him and be partners with him in the hunt. And when Dad got back from Canada, Sam would help both of them. He was sure he could run really fast judging by the length of his legs and carry heavy loads, assuming his arms were not just for show. Dad and Dean would be a lot safer with another man on the hunt.

Bobby wanted to fix whatever was going on, and Dean probably did, too. But couldn't they see everything has turned out for the better? He was an adult now. He just needed to get there mentally, and everything would be perfect. This morning was a step closer no matter how disgusting it was.

Sam would read, too. Catch up on all the current events and familiarize himself with the technology. He remembered seeing the computers at the hospital. He would learn how to use one. Sam knew he was smart and could catch on fast. Give him a month or two, and he'd have the basics down. He was already sure how his phone worked. He conquered texting! He wasn't going to tell Dean or Bobby, but Ruby texted him around 1 a.m., and it took till two to send a decent message back. She was only asking if he got to Bobby's alright.

He blushed when he thought of Ruby and forcefully shoved the thoughts of her aside. He didn't like her like that. He supposed she was pretty, but Sam was still new to the 'crushing on a girl' phase. She didn't really have any likable qualities about her aside from being facially blessed and knowing how to fight. Her screech was really loud, and she was mouthy. Dad would hate her. Dean hates her. Bobby probably did, too, guessing on his reaction at the hospital yesterday. Regardless, she was the reason he woke up the way he did.

Sam wrapped a towel around his waist and cracked open the bathroom door to see if the coast was clear. Swiftly, he bolted for the bedroom and exhaled a sigh of relief to see those blasted sheets were still by the bed completely untouched and uninvestigated. He knew every once in a while, Bobby would make a trip into the extra bedroom in need of some books he kept in the there.

Quickly dressing, Sam then tried to fold the sheets in a way that when he carried them close to his body when making the mad dash to the laundry room, no…residue would get on his clean clothes. If he were lucky, Bobby and Dean would be sleeping. Thinking it would be best to make the trip to the laundry room barefooted, he started for the door.

_RRRRRAAAAARFFFFF! RAAAAAARRRRFFFFF! RARF!_

Sam jumped out of his skin and swiveled his body towards Cherry and Rumsfeld.

"Shhhhh!" He hissed at the dogs. Unfazed by Sam's shushing, they continued to bark loudly and charged towards him only stop to sniff at the sheets gathered in the boy's hands.

"Ahhh! Gross, guys!" Sam grimaced and backed away so his back came in contact with the bedroom door. "Leave me alone, will you. Just for a minute. I promise I play with you later. I just need to-"

"You up, Sam?" Sam heard from Uncle Bobby. Sam's eyes bugged out of his head and smothered an unmanly 'eek' with his tongue, lips, and teeth. Crap! Uncle Bobby was outside the door. Sam had not even heard the man climb the stairs. The young man peered down nervously at the sheets in his hands. How was he going to get them passed Bobby without any questions?

"Sam?" Bobby called again from the hallway.

"Uh…Yeah…I'm up, Uncle Bobby." Sam called out and tried to shoo away Cherry and Rumsfeld with his foot who were still barking like mad, wanting to sniff the sheets and getting excited over their owner's voice.

"Let those dogs out, Sam." He heard Bobby say. "You can play with them later once they're fed."

Sigh! Sam closed his eyes really tight and let out an exasperated puff of air, hoping Bobby would just take the dogs to feed them. Still with back plastered to the bedroom door, he grasped the doorknob, turned to the left, and opened the door. He was still against the door; he just stepped to the left to open the door wide enough to let the dogs out into the hallway to their owner. Before Sam could shut the door, Bobby made his way inside the bedroom. Thankfully he went straight into the room before looking around for Sam who took that opportunity to sneak out from behind the door and into the hallway.

"Where are you, boy?" Bobby glanced around the empty room and eyed the stripped bed warily. "Did you get sick last night?"

"Very much so!" He heard from Sam who was…down the hall? Bobby tugged at his scruff thoughtfully.

Sam rushed passed the kitchen but skidded to a halt when he heard a 'what the hell are you doing?' coming from the dining table.

Dean sat at the table stiffly still dressed in his pajamas with a tall glass of milk keeping him company. His face was still black and blue, but Sam could make out some healing yellow here and there. However, Sam was only momentarily distracted by his brother's beaten presence. He'd fuss over his brother later; he needed to clean the humiliating evidence still bunched up in his arms.

"I'm just…uh…washing the sheets." Sam shrugged and smiled brightly causing Dean's mouth corners to drop and his eyes to narrow. Sam had folded the sheets so nothing could be seen and nothing could be touched, but he was still paranoid.

"Why?" Dean drawled out slowly, his focus coming back to his younger brother's face.

"Well…" Sam curled his bare toes nervously and patted them against the hard wood floor. "Why wouldn't I? Sheets get dirty. I'm just…helping out Bobby. Yeah, helping him."

Dean's eyes were still narrowed like he was trying to figure out where the missing puzzle piece had gone. "Why the sheets and not the pillow cases?

Gulp! "Th-th-there bunched in there, t-too." Sam lied. He absolutely hated this about Dean. Dean and his older brother nose were always able sniff out stuff.

"Hmm." Dean's eyebrows shot up, and he nodded and then picked up a newspaper with his good arm, giving Sam the go ahead.

Sam rushed into the laundry room and was grateful the washer was empty. He almost panicked, though, when he realized that Bobby had a different laundry machine set. He calmed himself and knew washing the clothes couldn't be that different than however many years ago. He just hoped there weren't any stains left behind.

As Bobby's washing machine twisted and churned in a sloshy vibration, Sam let out a sigh of relief. This time he really did feel he was in the clear. He made his way back to the kitchen and sat across from his brother who was still obscured by the newspaper. Sam eyed Dean's full glass of milk with jealousy and sneakily slid the drink towards himself. Downing a healthy gulp, he set the glass down with a pleased exhale. Well, this wasn't the worse day of his life, he supposed.

"So blonde or redhead?" Dean set down the paper with a shit-eating smirk, stabbing Sam in the brain with it. "Or both?"

Poor Sam could not even sputter a 'what are you talking about' or even a typical teenaged 'whatever'. All he could do was widen his eyes and let the hot liquid-y sensation pink up his skin tone while his older brother mercilessly chuckled.

"Oh, man!" Dean shook his head back and forth and patted his younger brother's hand affectionately.

"H-h-h" Sam began but could not finish due to embarrassment and Dean.

"You did…" Dean pointed his finger at Sam with an amused smile. "the exact same thing twelve years ago. And the best part is…it was here…at Bobby's. Same house." Dean's wicked smirk reappeared. "Probably the same sheets."

Dean shook his once more, chuckled, and then looked off into the distance pensively. "I wonder if it was the same chick."

"Dean," whined Sam and covered his face with his palms to hide his deepening blush. "Stop!"

"It was Posh Spice wasn't it? She was in that…little black dress."

"Dean!" Sam combed both of his fingers through his hair agitatedly. "No!"

"So it was a different girl?"

"Oh my-" Sam dropped his fumbling hands to his lap and gaped at his brother. "Did I actually tell you about my first…uh…?"

"Not willingly." Dean chuckled. "I sat on your chest and gave you wet-willies until you broke."

"Well." Sam swallowed and dished out his best 'bitch face' he could muster up on such short notice. "You can't do that to me now. You'll hurt yourself…some more."

"But it will be worth it." Dean smiled and snatched back his glass of milk and went back to reading the paper. Sam really doubted Dean's claim. Dean would not be happy if Sam ever thought about telling Dean who he dreamed about.

Sam sat in his chair fuming with anger and humiliation when Bobby made his presence known.

"You alright, son?" Bobby asked Sam as he sat down next to the boys. "You said you were sick in the night? Very much so, may I add?"

A sparkle of something evil appeared in Dean's eyes, and Sam tried very hard to ignore it.

"Uh…just a little throw-up in the night. No big deal. Happens all the time."

And dammit it all to hell if that was not true. Bobby and Dean knew that things were in the right if Sam made a trip to the bathroom at least once in the night during the week. More so than ever. No one was sure why, but no one was taking anyone to the doctor regardless. Bobby, Dean, and Sam just accepted it as stress of the job, stress of the apocalypse, and just plain effin' stress, man.

"Okay." Bobby nodded, accepting Sam's excuse. "You feeling fine now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. It's not a bug, right. You ain't feeling feverish or cold chills?"

"No." Sam shook his head.

"Good. The last thing we need is for your brother to get sick."

"I'll be okay, Bobby." Dean grumbled and picked up the paper once more to distract himself and pinpoint anything about this suburban massacre. It totally sounded like Lilith's territory of expertise.

"And another thing." Bobby lifted up his ball cap and smoothed out his salt n' pepper hair only to place the cap back onto his crown. "We all need to talk about this situation."

Sam's arms instantly folded into a protecting gesture. He did not like where this conversation was going.

"There is nothing wrong, Uncle Bobby." Sam huffed earning a death glare from Dean. "Everything will be perfect once Dean is healed and Dad comes back from Canada."

"Sam…" Dean began and caught himself before he said something stupid and totally honest. "Dad is not going to be rushing back to us like he used to."

Sam's eyes widened into saucers and his mouth flew open, nothing came out.

"We're men, Sammy." Dean faked smiled, and Bobby did, too. They were both trying to reassure him of what…they weren't sure. "We don't need our Daddy all the time. We can do the job just fine without him."

Sam's brows knitted together. The poor kid was so confused and so…so…he was just a kid. Dean was trying to keep it together, but the look on his baby brother's face was heartbreaking.

"Why not? I mean…we need Uncle Bobby. I mean…doesn't Dad need us?"

"No, he can do the job without us. He is totally awesome."

"I know that, Dean." Sam snapped and rolled his eyes. He straightened himself in his seat, so he was no longer slouching. He had important words to say. "What I'm saying is that…don't we need Dad for stuff that's not for…the job? And doesn't he need us because…we're his sons, and he loves us?"

Silence bounced off the kitchen walls and deafened the hunters. Bobby gulped and wondered how the hell he and Dean were going to deal with Sam and all his frickin-frackin questions? He mentally nodded and accepted. They were going to have to tell Sam the truth. His daddy has passed years ago and-

"Sam, don't be such a drama queen." Dean smirked and lifted up that damn paper again to hide behind. "He's gonna be here for Christmas. That hunt he's on should be done by then."

The hunters were unable to talk anymore about Sam's situation or even John Winchester. A few moments after Dean said what he said; Bobby got up from the table and kept himself busy by making breakfast. Making breakfast was the only thing that could stop Bobby from killing Dean. There was no way John Freaking Screw You, F-You, Shoot You in the Ass Winchester was going to magically appear under the Christmas tree on December 25th. Bobby poured himself a cup of coffee as the bacon sizzled in the frying pan. '_However, it wouldn't be the strangest thing that's ever happened under my roof. Or even under the Christmas tree. Or even on Christmas.'_


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Enjoy this chapter for those who are still reading and reviewing and liking what I write. I'm grateful for those who read and review. Thanx so much! I also apologize for any errors.

Lilith's bare feet were wet. She thought it odd she could feel wetness but not coldness. She was after all standing outside Robert Singer's property in a white sundress and nothing else. The snow came just below her meat suit's knees.

She did not feel coldness. She did not feel hotness. She did not feel a lot of things. But she felt wet. The white material stuck translucently to her skin. She peered down at the young woman's body and could clearly see the fleshiness through the dress. It should be pink, the skin of her meat suit. It was gray and very unpretty. This girl had been completely dead when she reentered the body. In fact, the body had been autopsied, shoved into a metal cabinet, and toe-tagged as a Jane Doe when Lilith had found her.

Lilith's pointer finger ran a line up and down the middle of her chest and ribcage. Lilith hated the scar, but it gave her wicked ideas for the Winchester boys. It was an ugly mare on this almost perfect host. One that she had not caused herself. The dress that she wore hid the scar fine, but she could still fill the bumps and stitching underneath the material. She never removed the thread. It kept everything together and inside. The body was beyond dead, decomposing actually, when she possessed it again. She was unable to force the dead cells and organs to work again. Back in New Harmony, Ruby had been able to keep Katie's innards alive for a long time but once Lilith shoved the other demon out the body, it was over. Just those few moments in between hopping from that edible little girl, Katie's body just stopped.

Lilith's hair stuck together in frozen clumps, and she turned her attention back to the shabby looking house. She could feel the wards all over the property, telling her they were strong but not strong enough. She could easily cross Singer's property and kill all three of those pesky hunters. However, she was only interested in killing two of them. Though Lilith enjoyed making Sam believe she was after his blood, she was really just interested in Dean's. Singer would just be a bonus.

But she did not come here to kill. She came here to watch. Listen. Absorb. Think. From the 200 yards away, Lilith was able to clearly feel the power radiating off of the youngest Winchester. He was getting stronger. Accepting the blood from Ruby was making a world's worth of difference in Samuel. But she did not drop by for a visit to see the progress for herself, she was here to see about what Ruby said. And she was right. Lilith sensed a slight change in soul. No, not slight. Lilith's eyes widened. It was the same soul but from a completely different time. It was young and shiny and bright. She could not see it, but she could feel it. The soul belonged to a child. Ruby said something about the power being old. Lilith spat into the snow and growled. She knew what had done this. What she didn't know was why. But she was going to find out.

Giving the Singer residence one last snarl, she whirled around and smacked her nose against something firm. It was a man's chest. Taking a step back and plotting torture on the person who snuck up behind her, Lilith took in the sight of him. Whitening her eyes and curling her fingers into a claw, she was about to dig out his heart. She stopped, though, and gaped fearfully and the being before her. This was no man.

Lilith tried leaving the setting, but her bare feet were planted to the frozen earth. Horrified that she was unable to move, she tilted her head back with a wide opened mouth.

Lilith couldn't leave the body. She was stuck inside the dead vessel about to be destroyed into a pile of ash. Before accepting her demise, she wondered why she had not died sooner. How had she been allowed to live? Why? She should have been offed thousands of years ago. Her body and soul should have burst into flames the moment she stepped out of Eden.

Lilith does not remember The Garden. She does not remember Adam. She does not remember God. She only knows the story, legend, and myth of how she came to be. If it had not been for those early story-telling descendants of her first husband's and his second wife's to remember, Lilith would not have a clue as to where she came from. Lucifer also informed her. The light bringer said she had died of starvation and exposure, something that was impossible to do in Eden. He said that when she left The Garden, she had become human but was unable to fend for herself, being naked, weak, and hungry. When she had died, hell embraced her new shiny soul and devoured it. She vaguely remembered Azazel, one of the Fallen, tearing into her flesh with claws and daggers.

"Lilith," said the man in front of her, pulling her out of her thoughts. "It has been too long."

Lilith snarled, eyes still white from anger and defiance. "Have you come here to kill me?"

A sharp bark of laughter erupted from the man and clapped his hands together with glee. "You know…I should. I really, really should."

He circled around Lilith. He eyed her attire and whistled with an eye roll. "Can't even find a live one? What's the matter? The economy taking its toll on you, too."

"Get away from me, angel." Lilith spat. "Or I will-"

"Aw. You are just too cute for words, Lilith. Always have been." The smile that had adorned the angel's face slipped into a sneer. "And to answer your question, no. I am not here to kill you. In fact…" The angel quirked a brow and smirked. "I want you to continue on to what you are doing, breaking seals and what not."

Lilith let the white recede from her eyes and glared at the angel doubtfully. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you are smarter than you look." The angel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Look, you don't trust me. I don't trust you, but we both want the same thing."

The white glow returned back into Lilith's eyes and she smirked. "Oh I doubt that, you pretty, pretty angel boy."

"Lucifer out of the cage. Yeah?" A snort escaped the angel's lips. "In theory, I want that, too."

"Get away from me before I pluck every feather from your wings and light fire to the bloody stumps that are left."

"If you were even to touch a feather of my wings, you would combust, you abominable whore. You are all talk, you know that. Yeah sure, you're evil. You kill and you kill and you kill. But usually you stick to humans. You're taking the rap for angel killing. Something not even the first demon produced by a human soul can achieve. You can't do anything to me, especially an angel of my rank." The angel put a hand on the Lilith's bare upper arm. "But I can do plenty to you, princess."

It started out as a warm humming tingle on the dead skin of her host. Within seconds, she felt like everything in the Katie's body was _real_. She could no longer detach herself from the cold of winter, and she could _feel_ the stitching on her chest and ribcage. She felt a stuttering thump underneath her broken breastbone following by a _thump, tha-thump, thump, tha- thump. _Lilith gazed down at her dress and saw red seeping into the white material. Everything was throbbing, cold, and painful, the kind of pain only experienced in Hell. Lilith's legs began to shake and then gave out. She lay in the snow panting. Each intake of breath, she could hear her ribcage crackle and grind against her breastbone. She opened her mouth to scream but could only hack up a bloody piece of her insides. Blood trickled down the side of her jittering mouth. She tried not to move, but she needed to breath and-

"Do you want me to stop?" The angel asked, gazing down at the demon. "Or do you want me to leave you here like this. Leave a nice little surprise for the Winchester Boys. I can do that, and I can make this eternal. Since you are what you are, you will never die. You will only know the feeling of wanting to. I can bind you to this body and make you feel this way until the end of eternity." The angle chuckled and clucked his tongue at the spazzing form at his feet. "It feels good, doesn't it? So physical and…human. I can make it go away. You may not be able to do anything to me, but you can do something _for_ me."

With as much hatred and gusto, Lilith spat a "What do you want?"

"You are to leave this place now. You are to never bother the Winchester brothers until…the time is right. Understood?"

Lilith could only nod in agreement and felt instant ease when the pain stopped. Narrowing her eyes at the being before her, she snarled. "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY FACE!"

"You first." The angel's voice dropped down a few octaves and stared down at abomination at his feet. He felt a surge of pride when Lilith disappeared but also a little disappointment. He had not smote a demon in…a very long time. It would have been sweet to do it to demon such as high ranking as Lilith.

Casting a last glance at the old home housing the Winchesters and their father figure, he rolled his eyes with a huff and flew away.


	20. Chapter 20

Sam tapped his fork on the slice of pork roast with disinterest. He thought he was hungry and was excited when Uncle Bobby was fixing the roast for dinner but after taking a couple of bites, he quickly became bored. The food was good, but he just wasn't...satisfied? Was that the word? This happened at lunch and at breakfast, also. Sam had eagerly shoveled a spoonful of Lucky Charms into his mouth, but the sugary cereal did not feel the void in his stomach. He wanted something else. He needed something else. Sam was having intense hunger pains but had no idea for what. Nothing satisfied him. He and Dean had been staying at Bobby's for a couple of weeks now, and most of those nights, Sam had been waking up in a cold sweat, shaking, and clutching his stomach. At first he thought it was some bug that would surely pass once the sun would rise, but the episodes continued to occur, and Sam was not sure if he could be quiet about it longer. The nightly hunger pains were turning into an all-day thing.

Sam glared at his vibrating hand that was clutching the fork. He was not going to put this on his brother and Uncle Bobby. Dean, like a good beaten brother, decided that he just had to get the flu, and Uncle Bobby was driving himself bonkers in making sure the eldest Winchester brother's illness did not progress into pneumonia.

_Take your pills, Dean. Take your vitamins, Dean. Drink the water, Dean. Drink all of your orange juice, Dean. For the love of the Almighty, don't mix alcohol with your meds, boy! Don't give me that look, idjit! I will flip you over my knee and tan your lily white ass!_

Yeah, Bobby just might swallow one of his pistols or maybe even all of them if Sam voiced his own health issues. With determination, Sam glared at his dinner plate and clutched his utensil. He was not going to encourage this new body's oddities. He finished what was on his plate and set his fork down with the triumph. He then stared across at his brother and Bobby who were having a staring contest. It still boggled Sam's mind how much things have changed between Dean and Bobby. However, Sam got the feeling that he did not even have a clue on how much has happened between 1996 and 2008. Dean and Bobby had kept incredibly tight lipped about bajillions of thing which was not fair. Sam, though being stubborn, had eventually broke down and told his brother and surrogate father what had happened to cause his age change.

It did not go well.

"_You made a *Censored* wish to someone you didn't *Censored* know? Dammit, Sam! You know *Censored* better than that!"_

_ Dean paced…no, more like limped with purpose around the kitchen with his good arm waving wilding to get his point across. He refused to look at his brother, who was tucked in a table chair trying to look as small and defenseless and as innocent as possible. Which he totally sold, thus, causing Dean's refusal to look at his petulant baby brother with his dewy, puppy eyes downcast at the kitchen floor. So Dean put his focus on everything else. His gaze then landed on Bobby who was flipping through texts based on wish-granting entities._

_ "Bobby, can you *Censored* believe this?"_

_ "Have to, son." Bobby said with disinterest, not even bothering to tear his eyes away from the ancient pages._

Dean and Uncle Bobby were being incredibly narrow-minded about this whole thing, Sam believed. He wondered what his Dad would think about what's happened. He hoped his old man would be cool with it. Sam wasn't a defenseless child anymore, and he could take care of himself if he needed to. He was not a baby anymore.

"Well, I think we all have had enough pork roast." Bobby grumbled and gathered up the plates and set them by the kitchen sink. "We should get to sleep early tonight. It's Christmas Eve tomorrow."

"And Dad is going to be here when?" Sam asked, eyeing Dean and wondered why his brother lost what little color he had left in his cheeks at the question.

"Tomorrow night." Dean whispered and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "So be sure to shave real good in the morning. You're starting to look like a mountain man. A psycho killer mountain man. You need to start grooming yourself or else Posh Spice ain't never gonna wanna kiss you, let alone any girl."

Sam scratched at his two week old scruff and morphed his features into his trademark 'bitch face' with heavy tone of disgust. "I don't know how, Dean. And besides," Sam smiled a little, "I think I kinda look like Dad."

Dean's body jolted as if Sam's words had just slapped in the face. With a swallow, he filed that moment away with all the other 'freaky, weird non-Sam-like moments' that occurred in the last couple of weeks.

When Sam turned fifteen, he decided that he hated how people compared his looks to that of his father's. Which was stupid, in Dean's opinion. It wasn't like anyone was comparing Dad's behavior and personality to his youngest son's. It was all genetics. They both had the same hair color, similar eye color, and those damned dimples. He tried explaining this to Sam who just huffed and bitched and wished that he looked like mom.

_"You're lucky you look like Mom, Dean. I bet she was a lot cooler than Dad."_

_ "Hey!" _Dean would snap._ "Dad is a freakin' badass, okay. And mom…I'm sure she was cool. And there is nothing wrong with the way Dad looks."_

_ "Whatever." Sam huffed once more and crossed his arms to stare blankly at a piece of lint or something. "I'm never cutting my hair, and I'm never growing a beard."_

_ Snort! "Like you could grow one. You are the most hairless fifteen year old on the face of the planet, Sammy."_

"I will help you with that beard, Sam, but I will only teach you once. After that, you are on your own."

Sam nodded and left the kitchen to get ready for bed.

Sam lay curled up on the upstairs bed completely oblivious of his older brother hovering. Dean extended his hand and wiped his brother's long bangs away from his forehead. At his older brother's touch, Sam turned towards the comforting hand.

"Hey, Dean." Bobby whispered from the door. "Come down stairs for second."

Dean followed Bobby down the stairs, grateful that he could ascend and descend without any assistance.

The two hunters sat around the kitchen table in silence. Every inch of the table's surface covered by a book or a manuscript.

"So what do you got, Bobby?" Dean asked.

"Absolutely jack shit is what I got." Bobby shook his head and threw his ball cap on the table in exasperation. With a heavy sigh, he gazed apologetically at the boy he loved as his own. "We might have to adjust."

"Adjust?" Dean widened his eyes and tilted his head in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It means that we may have to accept what happened to Sam and-"

"Bobby…" Dean warned and shook his head.

"We don't have anything, son. No leads on anything this powerful. I mean even Castiel was boggled at what's happened to Sam. We need to come to the conclusion that there isn't anything we can do for him."

"Maybe Sam hasn't given us the whole story." Dean shook his head and glared up at the ceiling.

"Maybe he hasn't. Even if he were to cough up every second of every minute of what happened that day, I doubt it would help."

"Have you checked all wish-granting, douchebaggy, life ruining monsters?"

"Yes, Dean. I even considered that we might not be real. That we may be a figment of Sam's imagination by being victim of a Jinn."

"We'll look some more. There has to be something."

"Dean." Bobby let out a tired sigh. "Let's just let it go for now."

"What?"

"Let's let it go. Let it be. Let it correct itself if it can."

"And if it doesn't?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"How bad could it possibly be, Dean?"

"Uhhh…I should shoot you for saying something so stupid."

"Don't get snappy with me, boy. I'm just saying that we have no idea what did this or what could. We could put all our efforts into something that may not help Sam, or we can let it go. Have you considered that? Sam's not all that bad right now. You know…compared to how he was before."

Dean glared at Bobby, but a part of him knew he was right. The bigger more prideful part knew he was wrong.

"I kind of agree." Dean nodded slowly, eyes avoiding the elder hunter. "But he doesn't know how to fight. He may be able to shoot a gun, but the things that want to kill us are kinda immune if you haven't noticed. This war that's happening, the apocalypse is not going to slow down or sympathize because a big player wants his daddy."

"Dean-" Bobby began, startled at the boy's harsh words.

"He's going to die, Bobby. I won't be able to save him. Hell, it wouldn't even have to be Lilith to take him. It could be one of her followers. I can fight for him and defend him the best way I was taught, but I will fail. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of them, and there is only us. We need a fighter, Bobby. A man. Not someone pretending to be. Not someone who deserves to grow up and not be up overnight. Tell me that I am wrong."

Before Bobby could answer Dean's question, someone did it for him.

"You are not wrong, Dean."

Dean spun around, facing the entrance of the kitchen to see Cas standing stiff and impersonal, his blue eyes boring into the younger hunter.

"What do you have for me, Cas?" Dean asked will naked hope. Cas stared back blankly.

"Nothing."

"Cas," Dean sighed out with sad exasperation. "There's got to be something you've heard."

"I did not come to give you hope, Dean, on Sam's mental situation. I came to tell you that those in my garrison as well as many others have heard about your brother."

"So maybe one of them can fix him." Dean said.

"They seemed…unconcerned about the predicament but frustrated with impatience because both you and Sam are unable to fight in the prevention with the opening of the seals. Dean…" Cas hesitated so he could place himself into Dean's personal space. "I cannot stress how close Lucifer's raising is approaching."

"I know that." Dean smeared his good hand across his face in exasperation, the other still in a sling. "No thanks to you and your selective healing powers."

"My power is given to me by God, and it is up to Him and the most superior of angels to decide on how they are used and when."

"I don't believe that, Cas. I think you can decide."

Cas turned his gaze to the floor, giving both Dean and Bobby a hint that the angel was ashamed of the idea.

"I could never do that, Dean," Cas whispered.

Before Dean could snort a clever retort, he was interrupted by Sam appearing where Cas had first appeared, the kitchen entrance.

"What's going on, Dean?" Sam yawned and then laid eyes on the back of dark headed man in a tan trench coat and business slacks. "Who's he?"

Castiel turned around at the mention of 'he' as Dean said, "This is a friend of ours, Sam. His name is Cas."

Sam's face scrunched up in a suspicious filled 'bitch face'. "Isn't that a girl's name?"

"Samuel." Bobby snapped and stood up from his kitchen chair. "That is no way to speak to a first acquaintance."

"This is not our first introduction." Castiel spoke, his eyes still trained on Sam, eyes squinted in concentration. "We have met before, Samuel."

"Call me Sam, Mr. Cas," Sam yawned and rubbed his eyes once more. "Only my Dad and Uncle Bobby get to call me Samuel."

"Call me Castiel."

"That's a weird name," Sam said bluntly and let a giggle escape his mouth.

"Sam!" Bobby chastised once more, sending an apologetic look to the angel of the Lord who seemed rather unperturbed by Sam's insults. "What is up with you, son?"

"I took some anti-nausea medicine. I felt funny." Sam grasped his stomach and smacked his lips in thought. "I still feel funny."

"You are very immature, Sam," Castiel graveled out robotically, evoking a snort from Dean and a small smile from Bobby. Sam did not look pleased.

Whoa, Bitch Face in a Half!

"Well, you dress funny, a-a-and my dad could totally beat up yours."

This was not the proudest moment of Sam Winchester's life or even the best comeback. He was still tired, he wanted to throw up, and he was grasping at straws, and this Cas_tiel_ guy was eyeing him like insect biology project. He knew his comeback was pretty lame and belonged in elementary school, but whatever. And now Dean and Bobby were quiet and looking at Sam like he had grown heads out of his kneecaps.

"I seriously doubt that, Sam Winchester."

"Don't call me by my full name."

"I did not. If I had, I would have said, I seriously doubt that, Samuel John Winchester."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean muttered under his breath and shook his head. He turned his gaze to Bobby who just shrugged at him. "Are they having a snark contest?"

"No." Castiel had heard what Dean had said. Ignoring Sam, he turned to Dean. "We are not. I came here to tell you something important regarding Sam's state of mind."

"What?" Dean and Bobby asked in unison. Sam rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

"How would he know about _my _state of mind?"

"Shut up, Sam." Dean snapped. "Now tell us, Cas."

"That there is nothing wrong with Sam's state of mind."

"What?" Dean blinked and flared his nostrils. Did he just hear what he just heard?

"Sam's mind is perfectly fine."

"What?" Now that came from Sam.

"Cas, I strongly disagree," Bobby commented and wished he had his booze within reach.

"Regardless of your beliefs, his mind is fine."

"Listen, Cas-" Dean began.

"However, his soul is not." Castiel interrupted and targeted his gaze on Sam once more, again eyeing him like a fascinating butterfly. "His soul is from a different time."

"Whoa! Back up, Cas. What are you saying?"

"Sam's 25 year old soul has been replaced with his thirteen year old one. Yes, his memories can be interpreted as being affected but are undoubtedly untarnished.

"I got to sit down." Dean sat down as did Bobby. Sam shifted nervously on his feet. Even though he had every right to be there due to the subject matter being about him, he felt that he was intruding on a grown up conversation. For the first time in the three weeks he had been in his adult body, he felt like he wasn't ready to be an adult. He might even regret making that wish.

Dean rubbed the space between his eyebrows with his fingers and let out a deep but strangles sigh.

"If Sam's thirteen year old soul is here in 2008, where is his 25 year old soul?"

"I can only assume that it is dwelling in the year 1996 in Sam's thirteen year old body."

Dean's eyes flew open, Bobby got up and walked over to fridge and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and Sam gasped.

"Well, hell." Bobby shook his head and took a hearty sip of whiskey straight out of the bottle.

"What does that mean, Cas? And have you figured out what could do this?" Dean asked.

"It means whoever did this can bend time to its will and rip souls from their bodies." Castiel's lifeless gaze pulled away from Dean to look at his vessel's shoes. "I may know something. I believe it may be a-"

A bright light exploded where Castiel had stood and instantly vanished taking the angel with.

Sam gasped and stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. Bobby and Dean glanced at each other, and vastly climbed to their feet.

"What the hell?" Dean growled, eyes darting around the room. "Sammy, get over here next to me."

Sam bolted to Dean's side. "What just happened?"

"I don't know." Bobby answered for Dean, who was torn, deciding between searching the house and staying next to his brother. "I'll go find out."

Bobby picked up his sawed-off and gingerly crept towards living room. He disappeared from view, and Sam shifted closer to his older brother.

"Dean." Sam whispered.

"Shhh, Sammy."

Silence fell on them until they heard a _thud_ come from the living room. The sound made them both forget about being smart and silent, they both charged for the living room only to be greeted by an unconscious Bobby on the floor in front of the open front door. Falling wisps of snow came in and landed uncaringly on the boys' father figure. Sam went to run to him, but Dean pulled him back against him.

"Don't Sam." Dean hugged his brother to his side as the kid began to make choking sob noises. Dean eyed the Key of Solomon above their heads. They were staying right there. Though the sigil could not prevent any threat coming in, perhaps said threat would still think twice upon entering. His first instinct had been to tell Sam to charge for the panic room in the basement, but he couldn't do that. His brother might not make it.

A few moments passed before a heap of limbs pushed through the threshold of the open door and fell on top of Bobby's unconscious form.

Sam gasped at the lifeless form of the woman who was lying atop of Bobby. Blood flowed easily out of her arms onto Bobby and the floor, gashes tearing open her skin from shoulder to wrist. He gulped and ground his teeth together to prevent any wobbling of the chin. He gazed at his older brother who appeared torn. Sam knew Dean wanted to check the woman for any hope of life but thought it better to stay under the protection of the sigil.

"Dean." Sam whispered, voice thick with wetness and fear. He wrapped his hands into the material of his brother's shirt for comfort.

"Shhh. It's going to be okay, Sammy. Just stay by my side." Dean whispered back. They both eyed the open door, a bloody angel banishing sigil dripping on the hard oak. For what seemed like hours of watching and waiting, two bulky figures enter the house, not bothering to avoid the heap of bodies at their feet. Eyes black and snarls in place, the same two biker demons from those few weeks before stood at the edge of the sigil. Like Sam was gripping Dean's shirt, Dean gripped Sam's. He was ready for these two beefcakes to enter, so he could make a mad dash out of the circle and away from harm's way.

"Now, now, boys. Play nice." A saccharine voice shrilled from behind the biker demons. The two figures parted to reveal a greyish white female figure. She wore a white sundress with a giant red stain down the front of it, top of the chest and below the navel. Her hair was blonde and dreadlocked with apparent chunks of ice clinging to the messy tresses. Her legs were bare as well as her feet, showing the little difference between the color of the dress and the color of the girl's skin. Sam nearly puked at the sight. He turned his head towards Dean whose eyes were as wide as Sam had ever seen them.

"R-ruby?" Dean stuttered and swallowed, brows contorted in confusion.

"Oh, Dean!" The girl batted a hand at him. "Don't you remember? She doesn't dwell here anymore." When the girl said 'here' she put small hands to her blood soaked chest. "I do." Her eyes illuminated, erasing all pupil and color.

Dean heard a gasp from Sam. Protective brother mode kicked in, and Dean shoved his younger brother behind him. The oldest Winchester could feel the warm but inconsistent puffs of breath on the back of his neck.

"Lilith." Dean stated, trying to sound nonchalant. He even smiled, though, it was a weak one. "Good to see you."

"I wish you really meant that, Dean." She said sweetly and walked closer to them, so she was also standing right on the edge of the boundaries of the Key of Solomon. "Because I've missed you very much. I never got a chance to swing down your way and pay you a visit. I'm sure…Alistair would've loved the company as much as you would have, yes?"

"What do you want, Lilith?" Dean snapped and heard a whimper behind him. "You went through the trouble of getting rid of our handy dandy protector. For what?"

Lilith's face split into a smile. She looked up at the sigil completely unfazed and marched right into the Key of Solomon. Before Dean could even push himself backwards to get his brother out the circle, Lilith was in his face. She gripped the sides of his head and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. Dean tried to pull away from the disgusting cold, dry lips that tasted of rotting flesh and rusted pennies. He felt her tongue trying to break the seam of his lips, but he clenched them shut. No freakin' way was he going to let dead demon tongue into his mouth.

Lilith finally pulled her lips away from his but kept herself in Dean's space as she whispered sweetly, "Silly, Dean." Giggle! "I'm here to kill you."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Forgive me for any errors.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I am sorry for any errors. I was in a rush to post this. Thank you to those that have been reading and reviewing. The reviews help me help you like it, so thank you lots! And yes, I have decided to do a sequal. Until then, enjoy this chapter.

_Lilith finally pulled her lips away from his but kept herself in Dean's space as she whispered sweetly, "Silly, Dean." Giggle! "I'm here to kill you."_

Dean heard a sharp gasp behind him and felt a tug at the back of his shirt.

"Dean," whispered Sam. It was the kind of whisper that could only be mustered through tears. Dean was stuck, petrified. He had no idea what he was going to do. He was trapped with his little brother in the Key of Solomon with Lilith. He needed to protect his brother. Dean cursed himself for trapping them both in the circle.

"And you, Sammy." Lilith looked past Dean's shoulder and eyed the hunched over man who was burying his mop head into his brother's shoulder blades. A snarl formed on her meat suit's mouth. Samuel was a disgusting sight. Too much innocence. She could smell the juvenile essence harboring inside Azazel's chosen. And though she could feel the body's yearning for demon blood, his childish mind would reject it. A pretty meat suit with words and lips like honey was not going to work on this Sam.

Dean noticed Lilith's preoccupancy with Sam, so running on instinct and unclear thinking; Dean yanked himself out of Lilith's grip, turned around and shoved Sam out of the Key of Solomon boundaries. Sam stumbled backwards out the circle of protection, and Dean ignored the look of hurt and shock on his brother's face.

"Run, Sammy! And you know where! Now!" The shrill of Dean's 'now' made Sam jump and sprint off out of sight. Like expected, Lilith's two beefcakes followed hot on his heels.

"Well, Dean." Lilith clucked her tongue. "I guess it's just you and me."

"Yeah, I guess." Dean eyed passed Lilith and watched Bobby's unconscious form, willing him to wake up and save him.

"Oh, don't worry about your precious Uncle Bobby, Dean. He won't wake up for a while. He got hit on the noggin pretty hard." Lilith taunted. Her eyes then turned a glowing white once more, and her hand rested on the strap of his sling. She tsked. "I was hoping you would be all fresh and pretty for me. Unflawed skin is so much more delightful to penetrate."

"You can blame your boys for that." Dean growled, his stance of a soldier constant. He knew this day was coming. Lilith would come for him and Sam. He very well knew that these were the last moments of his life, but he was going out with dignity. He would not let this bitch know how scared he was.

Lilith ripped the sling away from Dean's arm and eyed the plain white cast with interest. Dean swallowed and ground molars together when she put both hands on his arm. She was going to re-brake his arm! He saw the clench of her fingers, instinct sprouted from him once more.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,om-"_

Dean knew spouting an exorcism with unconstrained demon was not his brightest move, but when he saw his own demise in the glowing white eyes across from him, self-preservation kicked in. It was squashed, though, when Lilith snarled and grabbed ahold of his chanting tongue with quick fingers.

Dean's eyes widened to their limits when he felt cold, dirty fingers pinch the tip of his tongue. Her other hand wrapped tightly around his neck. He attempted to squirm out of Lilith's grasp until she spoke.

"Stop moving, Dean, or I will rip it out." To emphasize her point, she stretched his tongue outside of his mouth to an almost painful extent. "Believe me, Dean. A ripped out tongue is not a good way to go."

And Dean knew that already. He lost count of how many times Alistair ripped out his tongue down in Hell.

Dean stopped his movements and glared at Lilith.

"Now that wasn't very nice, Dean. Trying to exorcise me. I feel very underappreciated and unloved. I think I might have to teach you a lesson before I kill you."

With her fingers and nails still constraining Dean's tongue, she looked up at the Key of Solomon with glowing eyes and chanted in a language of something raw, ancient, and Latin. Dean watched as the symbols and circle melt from the ceiling and evaporate into wisps. Lilith's hands then went to Dean's neck.

"Let's go into the kitchen. I have a feeling things are going to get pretty messy, and we don't want to get all your juices onto the carpet, do we?"

As Lilith led the eldest Winchester into the kitchen, Dean hoped that Sammy made it down into the panic room. He couldn't hear anything beyond his own blood rushing and his heart pounding.

Sam sprinted down the basement stairs, the two bikers hot on his trail. Ignoring their pounding feet, he turned the corner and saw the panic room Dean and Uncle Bobby had shown him a week ago. He ran towards the open iron door but tripped over his feet. He fell heavily onto the cement floor, tearing the material of his soft cotton pajama pants. Sam felt the liquid burn on his knees and hands the rough cement flooring gave him. Ignoring the pain, he tried to get back onto his feet but failed when he was flipped over onto his back. Sam bit his bottom lip to fight the wobbling of his chin and the threatening tears. They had caught him. They were going to kill him. That Lilith girl was going to kill Dean, and Bobby might already be dead.

Sam dared to open his eyes and stare at the looming figures above him. He saw their black eyes and remembered the white glowing eyes of Lilith. Who? What were these monsters?

In the brief few seconds Sam had before the bikers attacked, he wracked his brain on what these human looking monsters were. Sam had only recently begun studying the paranormal with his dad and Dean before waking up in the future. And Uncle Bobby and Dean had not taught him anything in these past couple of weeks, hoping they wouldn't have to, hoping everything would go back to normal.

Sam tried to remember anything about the chicken scratch writing and squiggly lines in his Dad's journal when he stole it that Christmas, but his heart was trying to crack his chest open, and his few seconds were up.

One of the two bikers bent his knees and rested his palms against his thighs. He spoke, "Now look here at the Boy King." He chuckled. "Acting like a little boy. How fitting. He's not even fighting us. I'd find that hilarious if it weren't so disappointing."

"Yeah, if he doesn't fight back, we might get carried away. We might kill him."

"Perhaps."

"Lilith wouldn't like that."

"True. She thinks Sam's special." Snort! "You know what. I think she and the other uppity ups are hiding something from us."

"I think you're right. So uh…" Biker #2 said, "Do you think we should kill him?"

"No, no," Sam interrupted. "I don't think you should."

"It's tempting." Biker #1 said and scratched his chin thoughtfully, both men ignoring Sam's input.

Sam watched as the two conversed about his demise versus continual existence like he wasn't there. Still on his back, he rotated his head from left to right in hopes of finding something to defend himself with. Regardless of what the two bikers decided, he wasn't stupid enough to think he was getting out of here unscathed.

Sam looked to his left and noticed he was quite close to a wall. This said wall had hooks and straps imbedded into it. The hooks and straps harnessed or hung all kinds of weapon: guns, knives, swords, crossbows, archery, scythes, axes, hatchets, and etc.

Sam had the sudden urge to swallow as he looked back at the still conversing pair of biker monsters. He assumed they had yet to notice the wall. Dad had once told him that brains and brawn were two different things, and the enemy may or may not have both.

The wall was only a few feet away, Sam noticed. Casually, or something like it, he slid his arm closer. With his arm outstretched, he concluded that he was able to flatly palm the bottom of the wall and then some. Sam sent a silent prayer of thanks to Whomever for growing up into a long-limbed fellow.

His elbow was still bent with his palm against the wall. Careful and slow, but not too slow, he moved his hand up and came across a sawn-off shot gun.

Sam had learned to shoot not long after his brother verified the supernatural world to him. His dad figured that because his youngest boy knew, it was high-time to train. His first stage of training involved guns, assembling and disassembling in record time. Blindfolded and at a speedy pace. After a straight year of this with his father's critical eye and expectations of perfection, he was taken on his first target shooting. The event took place around some heavy forested back road. His father lined up the empty beer cans, all ten of them. Dad handed him a 45 and told him for everyone that he missed, he had to run in miles.

Sam had missed them all.

He remembered the heavy weight of metal and lead in his small hands. He looked up at Dad who beamed down with an encouraging smile and helped with his form.

"_Shoot like you mean it, son." _Dad said and rubbed his back soothingly and kissed the top of his head. Dean was in the background leaning against some tree with a bottle of Coke in his hands. His brother and Dad had not been worried at all, Sam remembered. Like they were both so sure he'd hit every single target. Dean had when he got to go on his first shooting expedition, and he had been a lot younger than Sam.

Because Dad had been Dad and not some other dad, Sam had run. Because Dad was a dad and loved his boy, it wasn't ten miles. Sam had to run for ten full minutes at a marathoners pace around the park, near where they lived at the time. It may have not been so bad if he had not been a bit rotund around the middle and…everywhere else.

Sam had puked at his dad's feet when his time was up. His father gave him a pat on the back, a drink of water, and promises that his aim will get better because they were going to be practicing for a long time.

The youngest Winchester tore himself away from the past and as fast as he could, he yanked the sawn-off out of its harness and jumped to his feet, cocked the gun, and aimed.

The two biker monster stopped conversing once they heard the clean sound of a cocking gun. They faced the noise attached to the Samuel Winchester, the star of their discussion. A tinge of fear both plagued them out of surprise, for their victim had some fight in him after all. But then they realized his choice of weapon was a gun.

"I like your spirit, Boy King." Biker #2 clipped. "But that gun of yours ain't gonna do anything but cause problems you may not be ready to face."

"You better listen to him." Biker #1 said with a nod.

The bikers may have been right, but Sam was not going to acknowledge it. His father's 'no B.S.' voice was yelling at him in his subconscious. He swallowed and looked hard into the bikers' black eyes.

Monster.

Monster.

Not human.

Monster.

Dean's upstairs with a monster.

_ BANG!_ _BANG!_

Sam jumped twice for every time he aimed and pulled the trigger. He gazed at the howling figures on the floor and the speckles of white scattered about. Hey eyed the speckles curiously. Was that…rock salt? Sam tore his gaze away from the salt when a loud curse jolted him to peer back at the bikers. There was some blood on their chest and stomachs as well as…smoke? Sam tried not to dwell too much on his confusion. He needed to get to the panic room. With the gun still in hand, he raced inside the panic room and locked the door. He knelt below the poster of Bo Derek and curled himself into a ball. He began to rock on the balls of his feet as he tried to calm his heart down. It was too loud and making it hard to breathe because the tears streaming down his face were not slowing down, either. He needed to sob, and huff, and scream, but his lungs and heart were battling, and they both wanted to win.

Sam was having a panic attack. He's had them before but never this severe, and Dean or Dad had always been there to calm him. He let go of the gun, rose to his feet, faced the exposed wall next to Bo Derek and rested his sweaty head against the cold cement.

Minutes passed consisting of deep breaths before Sam felt like he could think somewhat clearly. His heart was still pounding, and he was still crying, but he was alive. That's what mattered.

No, Dean!

Dean is what mattered.

Sam choked on a sob and cast his watery gaze to the ceiling, wishing he could see his brother and at the same time, grateful that he couldn't. What was that thing doing to him? She had said that she wanted to kill him. What was she doing to him? Sam had not heard any screams, but the panic room was soundproof anyway. Maybe Dean was okay. Maybe Dean had already killed that girl-thing and was just taking care of Bobby.

Sam may have been thirteen, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that was the case.

He would have to leave. He would have to save his older brother. He would have to-

Sam's nose flared and looked down at his blood spattered night shirt. It must've gotten splattered when he shot those bikers with the rock salt.

Suddenly, all the hunger, thirst, and nausea had felt in the past few weeks hit Sam all at once. He doubled over onto his hands and knees and dry heaved onto the floor.

He wanted. He needed. But what?

Sam's nose flared again, and he breathed in deeply. He could smell the dry, cold pavement and iron with a hint of dampness from the outside. But mostly, he could smell the blood on his shirt. There wasn't even a lot, Sam offhandedly thought. But he could smell it. The scent was strong and made the youngest Winchester's stomach clench in need.

Sam's desire struck terror in him. He looked at his bloodied shirt once more with hunger before forcing a cringe and yanking the shirt above his head. Breathing deeply, he forced himself to wad the material into a ball and chuck across the room.

Standing in the cold room barefooted and shirtless, Sam stared at the tossed shirt lying across the room. He wanted to go get it and lick the material clean. It sounded like a really good idea, but it should be disgusting, right? Sam knew the answer was yes but couldn't remember why. His body was hot and cold all at once and-

Sam stole a step towards the discarded shirt but then stepped back. He swallowed the bile that was burning the back of his throat. He had to get out of there. He grabbed the shotgun and dashed to the iron door, threw it open and fell to his knees at the smell of blood.

The two biker demons were still somewhat rolling around and howling but stopped when they saw Sam kneeling at the entrance of the panic room. Both of them were about to curse him or toss a sarcastic retort but stopped themselves short at the crazed look in the Boy King's eyes.

This blood did not smell like any blood Sam had ever smelt. It usually smelt like warm water boiling in a copper kettle. The bikers' blood smelt like that only with a hint of rotten eggs, and he wanted it. Disgusting, yes, but Sam needed it.

Sam walked away from the safety of the panic room and closer to the silent and staring men who watched him warily. He fought the urge to throw himself on top of one of them and feast. Instead, he shakily walked passed them, up the stairs, and to the main floor of Bobby's house where he heard a chilling scream from his older brother.

_R and R, ya'll!_


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: I've finally got this chapter in. It was horrible to write. I am still not satisfied with it, but I hope my dear readers will enjoy it anyway. As always, I apologize for any errors and in this chapter case, lack of detail. I am hoping after I edit the next chapter, it will be much better and more suitable to read when I update next time. Forgive this poor fellow of an author and try to enjoy. R and R if you'd like.

Lilith had some telekinetic hold on Dean, preventing him from doing anything but follow her into the kitchen. He watched as she stood next to the table and swept a quick eye over the open books on the table with a half-interested gaze.

"I've heard about your sweet Sammy's condition. Trying to fix your baby brother, Deano?" Lilith mocked, smile cruel and taunting. "Aw. Isn't that sweet? How's it going for you? Got any leads? Hmmm?"

"Screw you, bitch!" Dean sniped back. He may not be able to fight, but he believed himself to be grade A at name calling and insults.

"Hmmm." Lilith cocked her head to the side, bit her bottom lip for show, and narrow your eyes her eyes at him. Shrug! "Okay."

Dean's eyes bulged and before he could bellow out any objections, one of the kitchen chairs came up behind him. An invisible force pushed him to take a seat and keep still. He struggled against the concealed bonds holding him in place as Lilith stalked closer.

"Don't." Dean pleaded, still moving restlessly in the chair. She was getting closer and was bunching up the material encircling her legs. The skirt of the dress was inching up higher and higher, and Dean just wished that either one of them would burst into flames. It honestly did not matter to whp. "Please just a stop."

Lilith halted her movements. She stood in front of Dean and looked down at his anguished face. She grabbed it with her hand, thumb and fingers cupping his chin and digging into his cheeks. She tilted it up, forcing his gaze on her. His hazel-green eyes were overflowing with misery, and she loved it. She wanted to take a bath in them and be surrounded by his pain. She wanted to watch his soul be eaten away. Watch that light be smothered out of existence and be replaced with something black, shapeless, and smoke-like.

"What's wrong? Don't you want it? I thought you liked sex, Dean. Hmmm?" Lilith bit out accusingly. With powerful hands still holding his cheeks and chin, she pressed harder, so his lips puckered similar to a fish. Bending down further, she stuck out her tongue and swiped it across his mouth, purposely letting it catch and linger on the underside of his top lip. She felt vibrations from his form, no doubt a shutter from disgust. His pretty eyes flashed to hatred and she patted him on the cheek. "You don't like? That's too bad. I thought you would. This body," she gestured to her form, "is all grown up and pretty just the way you like them. Don't you think she's pretty?"

_Yes_, Dean mused, _and I'm going to burn that body. I'll take it down with me if I have to._

That poor body. And it was a pretty body. Dean kinda already knew that when Ruby was wearing her. Not that he was ever going to touch it with that skanky demonic smoke inhabiting inside. But this girl was a pretty thing, and it was such a shame. Despite the girl's soul being long gone, it was still her body. It had been stolen. Twice. No. Three times. Twice by the same bitch. Said bitch was leaning over causing the bloodied white sundress to scoop slightly lower at the chest. He was close enough to that bitch to see stitching. Autopsy gashes.

Dean mentally cringed. This body had experienced a lot. It had been possessed, shot, knocked around badly, possessed again, autopsied, and then possessed once more, and who knows what else? If he made it out of this alive, he was going to yank Lilith out of there and give that poor body some rest for eternity with a little flame sprinkled with some salt.

But Dean wasn't going to make it out of this mess alive. When Lilith straddled his legs and sat down on his lap, he knew it was over. She lunged for his neck while he sat stiff as a bored as she licked, bit, and sucked. Her fingers trailed lazy patterns on his chest. The hand then dipped lower and slithered underneath his shirt, drawing the same patterns on skin.

Dean knew Lilith was trying to get his body to respond, but it wasn't going to work. Lilith's suit was cold and smelled like death. Not like the smelly rotten kind but the kind that was void of any humanness or soul. Kind of like an angel. Castiel had always appeared in the same clothing with the same hair and completely lacking in anything human. Dean liked human things. Particularly girls. He liked the bubbly, sweet kind. The kinky kind. The slutty kind. The motherly kind.

Dean had always liked girls, regardless of their age. Little girls were adorable with their pink, frilly tutus, obsessions with princesses, and their high pitched squeals of laughter. As Lilith continued her attempt of getting a response from Dean, he focused his thoughts elsewhere. He would have liked to have a daughter. One that insisted on dance classes and Disney movies and happily-ever-after bedtime stories.

Dean for sure liked grown woman. For adult purposes of course. There were just so many of them and only one of him. Sometimes he felt overwhelmed.

But Dean did not like this. He did not like the bluish, grayish tint of the girl's skin. He imagined if he were blind and tounched Lilith's skin, he'd know the color. He did not like the crusted red stain at the front of her sundress. He did not like the wild, filthy mane of dirty blonde hair tickling the side of his face. And especially did not like the _thing_ straddling his lap trying to turn him on. Because that was what Lilith was. She was not a person. Dean remembered her _real _face. She could have straddled him wearing Tyra Banks, and he would still want to throw up. There was not a face beautiful enough to erase what Lilith really was.

"You know, Lilith?" Dean drawled out. He felt the form on his lap pause and slightly pull away, so she could look at her victim properly. She leaned her face towards his, so their lips were almost brushing. He swallowed, eyes narrowed on hers.

"What?" She whispered. Dean felt cold puffs of air on his lips and fought the gag building in the back of his throat.

"You," he almost smiled lazily, "are one ugly bitch."

Much to Dean's pleasure, Lilith pulled away from his face like she'd been slapped. A snarl formed on her face. She opened her mouth to howl out some rant, but he beat her to it.

"You can try to wiggle and writhe on my lap. Kiss me and lick me, but you won't get it up. You're disgusting. A hideous monster. I've seen your true face. You **are** an ugly bitch."

Once Dean finished his rant, he felt his chest tighten and his windpipe closed.

"Am I now?" She gritted into his ear, and then to Dean's surprise, cackled in pure amusement. She noticed the shocked look on his face and continued to laugh. The tightening in his chest and the closing of his windpipe resided leaving him gulping for air.

"What, Dean? Did you think that if you got me mad enough, it would distract me from raping you?"

Dean gulped and let out a sigh, his body slouched in defeat. He had sincerely hoped.

Clicking her tongue, Lilith mock-cooed. "Poor Deanie. Hmmm? Have you lost the battle already? You're just going to let me?"

Dean looked up at her, no quick silver tongued response attached to his glare.

"Well, that's no fun. Perhaps I_ should_ just get on with killing you."

Dean did not like the way Lilith said 'should.'

"But I don't want to just yet. It's not even Christmans. I think I can draw this out until then."

Lilith tapped her chin thoughtfully which Dean knew she was doing for show. She already had a plan up her sleeve. He watched her wide eyes twinckle crazily, catching glints from the kitchen light.

"Hmm. I wonder where your brother and my boys went off to. I need Sam."

Dean did not even have the gumption to look pissed or protective. He was all fear.

"Why?" Dean asked in low, animal-like growl, his attempt at trying to sound intimidating.

"Because I am going to do everything to him what I was going to do to you, and I am going to make you watch."

"No!"

That got Dean's blood to boil. He struggled against the invisible bonds with all his might. When Lilith placed her hand on his face, her turned his head to bite her. She was quick, though, and stilled his face with her hands.

"What's the matter, Dean? Will poor little Sammy not be able to handle it. Is he just too…immature for something so grownup?"

"I am going to kill you," Dean hissed, spitting in Lilith's face. His heart poundend with adreniline, body squirming against the invisible hold, trying to focus all of his excess energy and emotion on breaking Lilith's bond on him.

"Oh, Dean, those are big, nasty fighting words. And speaking of Sammy's condition. You never did answer my question. Do have any leads?" Lilith's voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "Because I do."

Dean's eyes widened. "You're lying."

"I have been known to do such things, but it's true," she said and then began to lightly sing, "I know what happened to Sam, and I know who did it."

"Tell me," demanded Dean, his struggle persistent to break Lilith's bonds. _Guh, it's like being weighed down by invisible anchors!_

"What will you do for me?"

"He won't do anything for you, Lilith, because you broke the rules. And you know what they say about rule breakers."

Dean and Lilith turned to source of the voice. The hunter's red sweaty face lost some color before returning tenfold into angry shade of plum as the demon stood up rigid straight, hands away from Dean and to herself.

"Trickster?"


	23. Chapter 23

"Trickster?" Dean choked out. He pushed against the bonds and was relieved to not feel their constaint. He stood up quickly and was about to charge the demon in front of him or the pain in the ass trickster, whichever one of his instincts decided on. Unfortunately, the Trickster saw this coming and forced him back into the chair with an annoyed wave of the hand.

"You stay there," the smirking trickster commanded. "This is between me and mother, so please, son, stay in your seat."

"Like hell it's between you two! This is about my brother! And what the hell are you even doing here? A trickster could not have done that." _Cas would've been known._

"You're right, Dean." Lilith smiled at him knowingly and then faced the Trickster. "A trickster couldn't have. But you're not a trickster are you…angel?"

"Angel?" Dean questioned, his eyebrows pinching together. He then relaxed them and a look of realization fluttered across his face. He was positive a light bulb had switched on above him.

"You're an angel." Dean stated numbly.

The Trickster's eyes twinkled with mischief and amusement at Dean but then glowered at Lilith.

"You went against orders, Lilith." Gabriel pointed his finger at her. "I told you what would happen if you disobeyed."

A brief look a fear passed over Lilith's face before immediately disappeared. "I was getting tired of waiting."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean raised his casted arm, now able to kind of move it without the sling. He was unable to move from his seat but was grateful he could move his arms. "Back up, the both of you!" He glared at them. "Tired of waiting for what? And an angel did not do this to Sam. They can't. Cas said…"

Before the Trickster could do or say anything, Lilith beat him to it.

"A simple angel cannot time-switch souls, but an archangel can. Can they not…Gabriel?"

Both Dean and the Trickster showed their surprise at the demon's revelation.

"Gabriel." Dean said, more to himself than to anyone. He was aligning the dots in his mind and found that nothing and everything were making sense all at once. Oh man, he was so tired of this shit that was his life.

"Oh, sweetie," Lilith pouted at Gabriel, "of course I know which one you are. You're the one that guarded Eden for so long. I remembered after our short visit a few weeks ago. And did you really think that I was just going to sit around until you were done playing tricks? I planned this. I knew if I showed up, deliberately breaking my promise that you would show up, as well. So fix Sam now before your angelic instinct kicks in and smites me down and ruins everything we _both_ want."

Dean sat helplessly on the sidelines. Once realizing what the Trickster really was, he just kind of shut down. Though the guy was a dick, Dean felt an inkling of hope that he and his brother were going to make it out of this alive. That is if Sam was still alive. Dread flooded Dean, remembering that Sam had sprinted to the panic room with two biker demons hot on his heels. He might have not made it. Dean tried to listen for any outside noise coming from any part of the house, ignoring the bickering of Lilith and Gabriel.

Nothing. Nothing except for the blowing of the wind and Cherry and Rumsfeld's barking from the outside. At least the dogs were okay.

The front door was still open, Dean acknowledged. Bobby was probably still passed out with that poor lifeless girl on top of him. Feeling completely helpless, alone, and defeated, tears swarmed down his cheeks. The hope that he would make it out of this alive remained intact. However, his hope for Sam's life had once again taken a dive.

_If Sam dies…_Dean choked back a sob. He remembered Cold Oak, holding his brother in his arms. Feeling, actually feeling the life drain from his baby brother. Feeling Sam's body sag against his own. Pulse completely gone, not even an echo to give Dean the least bit of hope.

_Sammy_, Dean sobbed. _My baby brother, I have failed you again._

_ Dad, I'm sorry for not keeping Sam safe. I have failed you again. I'm always failing you. I am so sorry._

_ God, take me now. Take me instead of Sam. My time was up long ago._

"Stop, Dean. You're acting like a little girl whose who just realized she beheaded her favorite Barbie doll."

Dean looked blurry-eyed at the Trickster and at Lilith…who appeared to not have a mouth anymore. Where her host's mouth used to reside was now skin. It was liked someone had melded her mouth shut and removed her lips. She was slapping the skin where the mouth had been and looking up at the ceiling, tilted head and all. She was trying to escape her host but could not.

"Don't mind her." Gabriel batted at the demon. "Now back to you. Stop crying."

"My brother-"

"Is alive," Gabriel rolled his eyes and looked past Dean; he was looking into the opposite room. "Sam, come out now."

Dean heard barefooted footsteps pad into the kitchen. His heart leaped into his throat when feeling long, strong arms envelope him into a severe embrace. Ignoring his ever-present soreness of his still healing ribs, he returned the hug with as much fervor. It was then that he realized he could stand again, the bonds were off, and he could embrace his brother properly instead of awkwardly in a chair.

Dean buried his face into Sam's shoulder. Into the bare skin of Sam's shoulder. Dean pulled away slightly, noticing his brother was shirtless. He eyed his brother's torso, inspecting for injuries and was relieved when none were found and that his tattoo was perfectly unscathed.

"What happened to your shirt, Sammy?" Dean asked before properly taking a look at his younger brother's face. Sam didn't answer the question, but Dean had completely forgotten about it. Sam's face was pale and dripping sweat, and his eyes were unfocused.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean grasped his brother's face. "Look at my, dude. What's wrong? Tell me, please. What hurts?"

Sam groaned at the last question and embraced his brother again. He buried his face into his brother's shoulder and sobbed, his fingers wringing the back of Dean's shirt. Wetness seeped into the material of Dean's shirt. He could feel Sam's hot tears on the skin of his shoulder. The older brother gently patted his younger brother's back to comfort him. Dean was never big on hugging, too macho to show his feelings and his adoration for Sam. But his baby brother needed him. Sam was scared and though Dean was too, he was the older and more mature brother and with that came some responsibility.

"I'm a freak, Dean," muffled Sam, his face still buried into his brother's shoulder. Dean froze at Sam's words.

_Why would you say that?_

_ What happened?_

_ What did you do?_

Dean wanted to ask all of these questions but bit his tongue. He was unaware of how Sam got away from the biker demons or how the boy became shirtless. It was unimportant at the moment. He pulled away from Sam and patted his arm gently, looking him straight into his baby brother's miserable wet eyes.

"Doesn't matter," whispered Dean sincerely.

Dean turned his attention back to the angel and demon. Lilith stood still, eyeing Gabriel with disdain. He obviously put some sort of hold on her. Dean briefly wondered why the angel had not killed her but brushed that thought under the table for a later time. It was time for business.

"So…" Dean sucked in a shaky breath. "Gabriel, huh? You uh…" Dean had only met a handful of angels in the past few months. Some of them were okay to be around, and some of them weren't. He knew from studying the Bible and other religious texts that Gabriel was one of the higher ups. A messenger. Dean was damned scared. Perhaps if Dean wasn't so exhausted from not dying, he'd be able to toss a sarcastic and undoubtedly funny comment at the angel. "You did this to my brother?"

"Right on, kiddo." Gabriel winked and smiled smugly. "It was moi."

"Why?" Dean's eyes blazed with anger, violence dancing behind his hazel-green orbs.

"Because you," the archangel pointed at Dean, "wished for it. You wanted it bad, Deano."

Dean contorted his face in confusion and spared his younger brother a glance; Sam barely looked like he was listening. His face was continued to ooze sweat; he was about to toss his cookies, Dean was sure of it.

"Sam did the wishing." Dean said slowly. "Not me."

"Sam did do the wishing…in 1996. You did the wishing the night before Sam woke up to discover that he had pubes. Don't you remember?"

_Dean stared at the fuzzy drink in front of him. He scowled. How could a drink be fuzzy? He rolled his eyes to the left and discovered that the left was fuzzy, too. Then to right. Yep, fuzzy there, too. He sighed and knew that he should quit while he was ahead, but he really did not want to go back to the motel that night. Sam and Ruby were there._

_ Alone._

_ "Barkeep." Dean made eye contact with the bald, goateed bartender and motioned to his glass. "Another, please."_

_ The bartender sighed. "Your glass is still full, man."_

_ Dean peered down at his drink once more. Indeed, the glass was still full. Gripping it with his hand, he chugged the whiskey down in a few short gulps. He placed the glass back down with a half-exaggerated clank._

_ "Now it's not. Another, please."_

_ The bartender snorted and shook his head and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. He was about to poor when Dean spoke up. "You can just leave the bottle, man. I'm pretty sure I'm going to drink the whole thing."_

_ The bartender eyed him warily, bottle of whiskey still in hand. "You drivin', mister?"_

_ "No."_

_ "You here alone?"_

_ "I'll be fine. I'm a big boy. May I please have the bottle?"_

_ The bartender shook his head once more and sighed. He set the bottle down next to Dean, who pushed his empty glass away in order to accommodate more room for the whiskey. He brought the tip to his lips, knowing that the answers were not at the bottom of the bottle, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The whiskey burned, but it was a good burn, a familiar burn, a burn that could soften or postpone big problems._

_ "Club soda, please."_

_ Dean turned next to him to find a very attractive and a very pregnant looking woman sitting uncomfortably in a barstool. He watched the bartender smile at her, grabbed a glass, wet the rims, dip it in sugar, poured some club soda in it, and place a juicy lime slice on the rim._

_ "Well this isn't a place for the likes of you, sweetie." Dean eyed her very prominent belly judgmentally. After blurting this, he realized that his comment was probably not the smoothest and nicest thing to say but his slight drunken buzz had divorced his brain filter and tongue._

_ "Excuse me?" The woman questioned, setting down her glass to turn next to the man._

_ "Well, I was just saying-" Dean attempted to back up._

_ "Are you passing judgment on me? You? You don't know me." She stated clear and fierce. If Dean were sober, he'd probably be scared and trying to apologize. Since he was in fact drunk, he ignored her sharp shrill of a voice and focused on her face. She was a knockout for sure. And vaguely familiar. He tried to place the freckles on her nose and the brown curls tied up into a cute ponytail but got nada. He briefly thought about asking for her name, but she got up and moved four seats away from him._

_ Dean sighed and stole another swig of whiskey, the mouthful of liquid bringing him a step closer to peace. Or something like it._

_ Sammy, why can't you see that Ruby is an evil skank? Just 'cause she's so pretty is no reason to act stupidly. If you could just be my little brother again._

_ "Well aren't you just a sad sight, young man."_

_ Dean looked over at the chair the pregnant lady had vacated. A grandma-like woman sat next to him. She wore glasses dipped low on the bridge of her nose and had the soft looking plumpness that awesome grannies usually had._

_ Blinking a couple of times, Dean eyed the elderly woman warily. This wasn't the type of bar where grandmas usually hung around. Of course, neither did pregnant women._

_ She turned to the barkeep and smiled. "May I get a lemonade with a shot of the good stuff, sonny?" He nodded and made quick work of her drink. When the full, icy glass was set in front of her, she stole a sip and then turned to him._

_ "Why so sad, sweetheart? You look like someone who's lost a battle."_

_ "I don't want to talk about it. 'Sides, you don't want to hear about some stranger's problems."_

_ "If I didn't, why would I ask?" Her eyebrows rose and a twinkle in her eyes appeared._

_ A bottle of whiskey and downing five shot glasses of Purple Nurples later._

_ "He's my little brother." Dean stated for the eighth time in the last thirty minutes. "And he thinks that I'm just sup-sup-supposed let him drive himself over the edge of something bad. I love that little bitch. And if he thinks that I'm just going to sit on the side lines while he does…whatever that he does. Than he's got another thing coming to him. So what if Ruby's got a nice ass and eyes that look like pools of melted Hershey bars. He can find a bajillion of those kinds of girls. In fact, there's like…" Dean paused his rant to count out the pretty brunette females in the vicinity, "ten here. I bet half of them are looking for an overgrown nerd to take home and baby. He needs to ditch her, or push her off a cliff, or something. He's my little brother. I'm the older brother, and what I say goes, dammit."_

_ "Well, you need to tell your brother how you feel about this, honey. You need to let him know that what he does hurts you. Not just makes you angry. Siblings always make each other angry. But when they are aware that they are hurting each other, that are when things begin to slow down."_

_ "Yeah, maybe." Dean muttered, his bottom lip slightly protruding as he thought about what she said. "I just wish that he really was my little brother again. You know? Not like little-little, but like his little old self again. His personality or behavior or whatever."_

"BAM! There it was, Dean. Your wish." Gabriel smirked and pointed an accusing finger at the hunter.

"That old lady?" Dean questioned doubtfully "That was you?"

"Naw." Gabriel pinched his lips together and shook his head. "That's some moonlighting wiccan who school nurses on the weekdays. We go way back." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Of course that was years ago. She occasionally calls upon me, the Trickster, when she's on the hearing end of a good wish. And when I say a good wish, I mean the kind that she knows is pleading for _just deserving._ The ones where the wishers' always regret it. When she saw you in the bar that night, she recognized you from your high school days. She remembered your brother's wish. She thought nothing of it until you made yours twelve years later. It was my pleasure to discover I was dealing with the Winchesters once more." Gabriel clicked his tongue and his eyebrows shot up with excitement. "You two are always fun to jerk around. You take it so personally"

"It is personal, and the joke is over. We are done here." Dean growled. "Fix it."

"Dean, I think you are missing the point. I didn't just do this to trick you guys. I did it so you would learn. Sam?" Gabriel said. Sam focused his blurry vision on the angel. "Have you learned your lesson? You don't want to be a grownup do you?"

Sam hesitated, barely listening. He was just trying so hard not to throw up, not to pass out, and not to cry. When he had reached the stairs to the main floor of Uncle Bobby's house and heard his brother bellowing a 'no', he almost fell down the stairs backwards. He did not want to go backwards. No backwards. The basement was backwards. There were those bleeding monsters in the basement. The bleeding monsters with their blood. He had shaken his head and persisted and stood outside of the kitchen behind the wall, watching everything unfold. With each new detail unveiled, Sam felt weaker in the knees. He just wanted this to all stop. He wanted his dad to walk through the door and save them like he always did before. He wanted Uncle Bobby to wake up, and it'd be real great if the woman on top of him did, too. He wanted it to all go away. Locker combinations and seventh grade English didn't seem so bad anymore. Bullies had nothing on black-eyed monsters.

Sam nodded at Gabriel's question. "No," he whispered.

"Being grownup is hard, you agree?"

Sam nodded lethargically. He whimpered and sank to his knees, laid upon the kitchen tile, and curled up into the fetal position completely scaring the hell out of his older brother. Dean fell to his knees and brushed his baby brother's bangs out of his face. Sam was clutching his stomach with his eyes closed tightly and whispering nonsense under his breath.

"What the hell is happening to him? What did you do?" Dean snarled up at Gabriel and clenched a fist with his good hand.

"A) you don't want to know. B) _I _didn't do this to him."

"Can't you stop it? Make him feel better or-"

"Eh." The archangel shrugged and batted an arm. "Don't wanna."

"You douchbaggey son of a-"

"Have you learned your lesson, Dean?" Gabriel interrupted with smiling eyes and crossed arms.

"I'll tell you about learni-"

"Save the smartass comments to yourself, Dean, and answer the question and answer it honestly. Have you learned your lesson? Have you learned it was better when Sam knew how to take care of himself? When Sam knew how to fight and research and was aware of demons and angels. Was it better when Sam knew how to kill things and hunt things? And wasn't it better when he knew how to shave and control his wet dreams?"

Dean's vision suddenly became skewed and dewy. He blinked and looked down at the shivering form, his tears running down his cheeks and falling on the exposed skin of his brother's arm.

"Yes," he croaked.

"Good."

Gabriel turned away from them and looked at Lilith who was still mouth-less and eerily still. Her mouth then reappeared but before she could scream, the archangel snapped his fingers and her whole body lit up in flames. She burned until there was nothing but grayish black dust in a heap on the kitchen floor of where she once stood.

"Did you kill her?" Dean asked with naked hope in his eyes.

"No." Gabriel shook his head. "The body's mother is in the hospital. She's prayed for the last few weeks that she'd never have to see her daughter again."

"So you do answer prayers." Dean snorted without the least bit of humor.

"I am an angel." A small smile formed on the angel's mouth but quickly vanished. "But you're not going to remember that."

Dean felt heat flare up inside his skull, almost hurting but mostly fast vibrations of brain tissue flexing He closed his eyes and saw a black hole and dove for it. The blackness consumed him and-

A/N: I know. Cliffhanger. I once again apologize for any errors.


	24. Chapter 24

"What in the hell is going on? What the hell are you two doing here? Sam, why the hell are you half naked in my kitchen? Dean, what happened to your arm?"

The boys stirred awake at the yelling. Dean opened his eyes and took in his surrounding, starting with the ceiling. He was in Bobby's kitchen. He was lying down in Bobby's kitchen. He could feel the cold floor seeping into his back and causing goose bumps upon his skin. Clenching his abdominal muscles, he sat up and breathed in a gulp of air.

"The hell?" He squint his eyes and gave a 'what the hell, dude' face at Bobby who was standing bewildered at the kitchen entrance. "This is not where I went to sleep last night? Sam?"

Expectedly he called out for his brother and let out a sigh when he saw him lying next to him.

In the fetal position.

"Sam?" Dean shook his brother's naked shoulder in order to rouse him. "Sammy? Wake up, dude. We are in Bobby's kitchen, and I don't know how we got here."

Groan! Sam felt his brother's hand jostle him awake. He smacked his lips tiredly and sighed. His tummy hurt, and he felt clammy. Ruby had only satisfied his manly needs when Dean went out the night before. She did not give him the 'other' goods. Tease!

Sam's eyes fluttered open and saw that he was looking at a kitchen floor. He also noticed that he was freezing. His heart and stomach dropped, and he flew up into sitting position, ready to fight off the captors that stripped him of his night shirt and dropped him off on a cold kitchen floor. Much to his relief, he saw only Bobby and his brother. And of course Bobby's kitchen. Naturally.

"Dude." Sam whispered to his brother, eyeing Bobby wearily, who stood tiredly at the kitchen entrance with blood all over his flannel and a red-purplish goose egg on his forehead. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Dean whispered back, he was also eyeing the bloodied up and beaten Bobby. "This isn't where we went to bed last night." He said firmly, completely sure of himself, but then turned to his brother with worry and doubt etched in the crease of his brows. "Right?"

"Right." Sam nodded slowly. "We were in a motel."

"You were in Shallow River, I believe." Bobby added and stepped cautiously into the kitchen. He fished out a flask from a pocket and held it towards the boys. They eyed the flask offensively and both pouted at Bobby.

"We're fine, Bobby. Our tattoos are still keeping us…us." Dean stated but looked at Sam's chest anyway and then down the collar of his own shirt.

"But that doesn't answer the question of how you two got here." Bobby scratched his scruff, boggled completely. "And it doesn't explain why I woke up next to an open front door with a dead woman on top of me and two dead men in my basement." He shook his head and let out a shaky breath.

Bobby sighed and shook his, taking his ball cap off to smooth over his hair beneath to only place the hat back.

"What?" Sam and Dean questioned in unison.

"There was rock salt in their chests and abdomens. And uh...I think I found your shirt, Sam. It was in the panic room.I didn't know what else to do with the bodies but bury them in the yard. When I came back inside the house to grab a cup of coffee, you two boys were laying here."

There was a long draft of silence, the two younger hunters attempting to wrap their heads around Bobby's words before Sam spoke.

"What time is it?" He whispered hoarsley, hoping that talking quietly would calm his and his brother's nerves. He felt Dean's vibrations of horror and shock beside him. This was bad, loosing time.

The corners of Bobby's mouth turned down as he looked at his watch. When he'd been outside burying the woman's body, he never thought to look at his wrist. He'd figured it was sometime during the day. Snow was falling, clouding up the sky making it near impossible to tell.

"Say's here it's three in afternoon."

"How did we get here?" Sam asked, more to himself than to the others.

"I don't know." Dean answered and touched his neck gingerly. It felt sore. There were tender spots all over the skin. "Do you see any bruises?"

"A little bit." Sam answered, vaguely tossing a glance at his brother's neck. "What happened to your arm?"

"I don't know." Dean murmured while checking out his cast. It was plain white with some definite usage. The plaster had been on his arm for a while. Sam followed his brother's gaze and eyed the cast. Though still mostly white, the cast was not new. Dean awkwardly flexed his fingers and tried to shift his arm cocooned tightly within the plaster walls. Sore? Yes. Nauseatingly painful? No. He shifted slightly and felt some twinges and pinches underneath his shirt. Regardless of modesty and more about curiosity, he lifted the material and was greeted with deep yellow and light blue bruises across his stomach and ribcage. These were healing bruises. Bruises that had been much worse and much larger, Dean was sure. He had broken ribs before, and he knew the feeling and the appearance of recovery.

"Well, this just keeps getting stranger and stranger." Bobby gently rubbed his own wound on his forehead.

"Umm…" Dean began with hesitancy, letting go of the hem of shirt. "What day is it?"

Bobby's frown deepened and left the room. Sam and Dean heard the sound of a television being turned on and some muffled talking. A few seconds later, Bobby was back with a face as pale as the snow outside.

"It's…" Bobby shook his head, disbelief etched into the lines of his aging face. "It's Christmas Eve."

Bobby, Dean, and Sam sat around the kitchen table with coffee, toast, and bacon keeping them company. None of them really had much of an appetite at the moment, but the coffee was more than welcome. Bobby had thought about getting some books out and doing research on lost time but stopped his tracks when he noticed open books already on the table regarding that subject.

"Dude," Dean managed out, studying the texts on the table, "this is motherfreakin weird. And I have this feeling of-"

"Dread," Sam finished who was now with a shirt and socks. Much to his and Dean's shock, all their belongings were inside the house. Their clothes were residing in drawers and a snow covered Impala was parked next to Bobby's, no visible snow tracks from the tires. It had been there awhile and apparently so had the Winchester boys. "that something bad happened. Really bad. Like...I don't know. Like...we almost died and were...helpless?" Pause. Sam wasn't sure where that last word came from, but it felt right to say, very complimentary to lead weight in his stomach. "I also feel like…" Sam cast his gaze off towards one of the ceiling corners and shook his head with a shrug, "that I should be apologizing."

"Yeah, well…" Dean muttered and took a sip of his orange juice. Bobby had found some pain medications prescribed for Dean and forbade him to drink coffee. "You're not the only one."

"And I feel like I'm the one you should be apologizing to." Bobby pointed it with a curious expression. "I'd like to know why…Maybe."

A moment of silence washed over them. Their quizzical thoughts were interrupted when Castiel appeared next to them.

"Cas?" Dean said hopefully.

"I am deeply relieved that all three of you are well. I feared the worse."

"Cas," Sam spoke this time, his eyes wide and serious. "What happened? Why were you afraid?"

Castiel's blue eyes widened as he tilted his head to the side and then squinted.

"You do not remember. None of you do." His eyes drifted to Dean and Bobby.

"Tell us what happened, Cas." Dean pleaded.

"Yeah, tell us." Bobby said.

Castiel opened his mouth and was about to speak when his head jerked upward. He stood that way for several moments before Dean could speak.

"Cas?" Dean questioned. "What's going on?"

"I must leave."

"Wait!" Sam shouted. "Please tell us what happened."

"Another time," Castiel promised with a slight nod and with flutter of invisible wings, he disappeared.

Sam, Bobby, and Dean stared blankly at the space Castiel had occupied, dumbfounded and completely lost.

"What are we gonna do?" Dean whispered.

"Carry on like we didn't just loose three weeks of our lives, maybe?" Sam rubbed the tender space between his brows.

"I guess we have no other choice, boys." Bobby sighed. "I mean…we can ask around town and stuff about our whereabouts, but…" His voice trailed on.

"Yeah." Dean nodded gently, only half listening, too busy with his own imagination going wild on him.

"Yeah." Sam nodded, too, his eyes glazed over, not really there with the other men. He cocked his head to the side and painted a pouting grimace on his face. "You know what?"

"What?" Dean and Bobby grumbled out.

"I had a really weird dream before waking up."

_Oooh, oooh she looked at me with big brown eyes  
And said:  
You ain't seen nothin' yet,  
B-B-B-Baby, you just ain't seen nothin' yet,  
Here's something that you never gonna forget,  
B-B-B-Baby, you just ain't seen nothin' yet._

Sam groaned at hearing the blaringly loud music projected from the alarm clock. He opened his eye, his lids feeling like they weighed as much as the Impala. He groaned once more and shifted in his bed. Oh, man. He was so tired. He felt like he'd just fought a battle all night long. And in his nightmare, he had. Before reaching over to the nightstand to flick off the alarm clock, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stumbled his way out of bed and into the bathroom, passing an out cold Dean on the way there. He used the toilet, washed his hands and face, and then walked out. He sat wearily on his bed and breathed in a deep sigh. His dream had been vivid and scarily so. Every emotion and physical feeling had felt in depth: hunger, need, and fear.

He was an adult in his dream, a man, and had not been what he had imagined or hoped.

Sam heard his brothere shift underneath his covers, tearing him out of his reeling thoughts.

"S'mmy." Dean muffled sleepily, his older brother still in bed laid motionless and comfortably cocooned in his blankets. "H'ppy thrt'nth birthday, dude."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam yawned, a chubby palm covering his mouth.

The End. (Yeah, I know it's abrupt)

A/N: So yeah, I totally wrote that past Sam never lost any time unlike his future self, brother, and Bobby. Tis why— I felt it'd be more acceptable for Season 4 Winchester to lose time than a 1996 Sam. It's just cleaner that way. If my readers hate it, tough. It's how I wrote it; it's how I like it. Now I must bid adieu to this story…but not my readers. *Goes off to write sequel*

And also. I will have the first chapter of the sequel up quickly after the New Year.


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